Glass Fortress
by Strawberry Champagne
Summary: As Commandant, Flynn fights corruption in the Empire, but extremists shatter the illusion of peace. Vigilante honor meets imperial might. Alliances fray and loyalty is questioned. Flynn, Yuri and friends face an elusive, unpredictable enemy. YurixFlynn
1. Uninvited

_This story is rated T for violence, adult themes, and mild language._

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**1. Uninvited**

Commandant Flynn Scifo was proud of his Guard. Their uniforms, resplendent in the hues of blue and white that he carried over from his own brigade, were bright and crisply folded in all the right places. They kept their weapons sharp and clean. Standing at attention, they hardly blinked as he slowly walked down the line and inspected them individually. The previous commandant, Alexei, was said to have selected the best of the best of the knights to serve in the Royal Guard. On the day of his official appointment, Flynn had sworn that his would be even better. They did not disappoint him.

After running them through some exercises, Flynn climbed several flights of stairs and walked through many long corridors until he reached his private chambers. As a knight, and later a captain, his room had hardly been cramped. Even several months later, though, the contrast of the Commandant's quarters still astounded him. Forget the spacious opulence of the bedroom—before he even entered that, there was a fair-sized sitting room, scattered with finely upholstered couches and chairs. A large, stone-faced fireplace served as a focal point, though the ashes were cold on this evening. Flynn examined himself in one of the gild-framed mirrors spaced around the room. He looked tired. For all his years in the Knights, rising early and pushing his body to the limits by working late into the night had never quite become second nature. Hiding his fatigue from other people had, however. Maybe he could steal a few extra moments of sleep before facing the next duty that demanded his immediate attention.

He deftly removed his gauntlets, setting them in the seat of a nearby armchair. Piece by piece, the rest of the components of his armor went into the pile. He stretched cramped muscles, rolling his shoulders before reaching down to unfasten the heavy boots. The privacy of his rooms allowed him the luxury of yawning unabashedly, and it felt fantastic. One of the downsides to being the leader and face of the Imperial Knights that no one told him about was the expectation to look professional and superhuman all of the time. That meant no yawning, no stretching, no scratching, no slouching. This went for all the knights, really, but for the commandant it expanded ten-fold. At least for the regular knights, they could sometimes relax around their comrades when their captain was away. Flynn was looked up to by them all.

By the time he prepared to enter his bedroom, Flynn wore only the cloth components of his uniform. Stepping through the door and over to his wardrobe, he loosened his sword belt and began to pull his tunic over his head. Somewhere behind him, he heard a cough.

Flynn whirled around, grasping the hilt of his sword and getting tangled in half-removed sleeves. He tugged at the sword ineffectually, then stopped when he recognized the man seated cross-legged on his bed.

"You should really be more vigilant, Commandant." Yuri raised his eyebrows, looking smug.

Flynn tugged his tunic back on, fighting the heat that threatened to rise in his cheeks. He must have looked completely ridiculous. The only consolation was the fact that it had been his childhood friend who had seen him, and not one of the men or women of the knights. Still, Yuri wasn't one to let things like this go. As if to prove this point, he spoke again, sounding amused.

"My plan was to see how long it would take you to notice me here," he said. "But I was starting to wonder just how much of a show I was about to get."

This time Flynn _did_ blush, and was thankful that he was facing the wardrobe. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to regain his composure and feign nonchalance.

"Hilarious, Yuri. How the hell did you even get in here?" There were three knights standing guard by the front door of his rooms at all times, but none of them had mentioned any unexpected visitors. His friend was silent, and Flynn turned and followed his gaze to the window. Before Flynn's promotion, Yuri had often used a rather unconventional method of entrance, even after he had been pardoned for his crimes and thus been more than welcome to enter the castle the normal way. To expect Yuri Lowell to do anything like regular people, though, was to expect disappointment.

"Yuri," Flynn said, somewhat exasperated. "My rooms are an entire floor higher than they used to be. Have you been scaling the walls with your bare hands?"

"Not at all." Yuri scoffed. He held up a length of rope, and Flynn covered his eyes with one hand. The man was impossible.

"I'm glad you did not break your neck, but if you'll excuse me," Flynn said, gesturing to the bed. Yuri blinked up at him, not comprehending.

"Fine. You can stay there if you wish," he went on, yawning into his fist. He crossed to the other side of the bed and pulled the turquoise silk sheets up around his shoulders.

"Hey," said Yuri. "Hold on, don't you even want to know why I'm here?"

"No."

Flynn burrowed deeper into his pillow. After about a minute had passed, he cracked one eye open and saw Yuri staring down at him darkly. He also saw the first glitters of mischief in his eyes, and grabbed for the edge of the sheet just as his friend started to tug it away from him.

"Don't you dare, Lowell," he muttered. "I have earned this. You should go see Estellise, though. I heard that she is visiting the capital this week."

"Nah," said Yuri, crossing his arms. "I'd rather bother you."

"Bother me in an hour, then. I'm exhausted."

Truthfully, Flynn was thrilled to see his closest and oldest friend, but he didn't know when his next opportunity to rest would be. Yuri seemed to consider this, examining the blond man with serious eyes.

"Huh. You really are, aren't you? Flynn, you look awful." It was a rather backhanded way of apologizing, but coming from the former knight it still counted, somehow. Satisfied, Flynn closed his eyes. And that was when he heard the screams.

* * *

Yuri had already bounded to his feet and stood by the fireplace as Flynn strapped his armor and sword back on, grateful for the endless speed drills that he had endured during his training. Adrenaline and his sense of duty pushed the fatigue to the back of Flynn's mind as they sprinted down the hall toward the source of the commotion.

"Sounds like it's coming from the courtyard," said Yuri. Flynn nodded curtly and they raced down the stair that led to the ground level. Turning the corner, the two men skidded to a stop and surveyed the scene.

There had clearly been an attack of some kind. Two nobles, a pair of brothers that Flynn recognized but whose names escaped him, bore serious-looking wounds. The younger man clutched his stomach, blood dribbling between his fingers. The other's fancy doublet was slashed across the shoulder, the sleeve hanging from it and soaked through. Elsewhere, piles of black cloth marked three bodies—the would-be assassins, no doubt. In the center of the violent mess stood one of Flynn's knights. A reliable officer of the brigade's Sword Bearers division, though the commandant hadn't had a lot of personal dealings with him. What was his name? Ah.

"Tor Altiren," he said, stepping out of the shade of the columns.

"Commandant," the man said, saluting. He was wearing his helm, but had the visor raised, and locks of reddish hair were sticking to the sheen of sweat that coated his forehead. As Flynn approached, he nodded to indicate that the young knight could be at his ease. He did so, his arm returning to his side and stance relaxing. From the other side of the courtyard, some members of the castle's infirmary rushed to the wounded nobles' side. They gave them gels, which contained powerful anesthetics and anti-microbials, in addition to compounds that accelerated the body's healing process. For such grievous wounds as these, though, they needed more extensive medical attention—the one with the stomach wound wouldn't even take his gel, having apparently gone into shock. The medics began to assemble litters so that the brothers could be moved.

"Sir, I tried to apprehend them." Tor gestured helplessly at the slumped figures, dark cloaks obscuring all but their faces. "They were, ah, pretty insistent on fighting to the death. I did manage to corner one, but…"

One of the assailants was propped against the low wall of the courtyard's fountain, but just as lifeless as the other two. There were differences, however, which Flynn noticed immediately as he bent down to examine her. The woman's face was ashen, her cheeks and lips bloated.

"Poison," Yuri said, crouching beside him. He reached over and pried the woman's mouth open, easily done as the body had not yet become stiff, then searched around with two fingers. If Flynn hadn't known him so well, he would be impressed and perhaps slightly frightened by his friend's air of detachment. After a moment, the dark-haired man nodded as if he had satisfied a suspicion and extracted his fingers.

"Yeah, there's a burst capsule behind her teeth." Yuri rose and wiped his hand on the leg of his pants. "Someone doesn't want these people talking."

Flynn turned toward the knight. "Were you here when this happened?"

He shook his head. "I was just down the corridor when I heard the shouts. They had already…I managed to prevent a second strike, sir. Going on the defensive and trying to disarm them wouldn't work. They came at me like—" He stopped as if he were unsure how to continue.

"Like what?" That was Yuri, impatient as always.

"Like people who didn't care if they died." Tor shrugged, seeming at a loss. "They also kept shouting things, like 'the system must fall' and 'death to our oppressors.' I don't have to tell you what that sounds like, sir." His mouth tightened, halfway between a smile and a grimace. The word_ extremists_ hung in the air between them, though this attack felt different from their usual style. Flynn was beginning to feel very tired again.

"Good work," he said, reaching out to clasp the other man's gauntleted hand. Their eyes met briefly, a look of concern and unanswerable questions passing between them, and then Flynn broke eye contact and issued some orders to the small crowd of knights and castle staff members that were hanging back on the edges of the courtyard. There were bodies to remove, bloodstains to wash away. Whoever had sent these people was probably going to strike again. Flynn could feel the mounting tension almost tangibly in the air, and knew that something must be done. It would have to begin with him, with a clear mind. He and Yuri did not speak as they walked back to his rooms, where Flynn mechanically removed the most restricting pieces of armor, and collapsed.

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A/N: I hope that you have enjoyed the first chapter. If you have time, it'd be great if you could let me know what you thought of it. I plan to submit the next chapter next Thursday. See you then! (Also, you can visit my author profile for a little extra info and a note about pairings.)


	2. Messenger

**2. Messenger**

Imperial warehouses are cavernous places. Entering one is like wandering a maze that no one designed, unmarked boxes stacked haphazardly. One could only guess at the types of items stored in the large wood containers—probably surplus materials, but it was equally possible that they contained unidentified relics of the ancient Geraios civilization. The bald fact of it was that the buildings were largely ignored, infrequently organized and only nominally guarded. Whoever put these things here evidently no longer cared about them. The two men who walked among the dark and twisting rows were counting on it.

The lanterns each of them carried cast weak circles of light at their feet, feebly illuminating their path but doing nothing to dispel the deep shadows surrounding them. Even considering the blind eye that the Empire turned toward the place, secrecy necessitated that nothing appear amiss from the outside, which meant the room's powerful light system must remain deactivated. The guard, a victim hand-picked for his malleable personality, had been bribed away from his post with promises of strong drink and would return with no suspicions. That, at any rate, was the plan.

One of the men, the taller and stockier of the two, raised his lantern above his head and squinted into the darkness. Sliding his other hand inside his coat, he retrieved an unsealed envelope.

"It does say this warehouse, yeah?" He thrust a slightly crumpled piece of paper in front of his companion. The other man held one edge between dusky fingers, careful to avoid the many stains of dubious origin scattered across it.

"'…_go to the warehouse in Port Torim_.' That's what it says, Jules. Plain as day." He tried not to sound as weary as he felt. It was not the first time the question had been asked during their journey. Jules nodded briskly, tucking the envelope back into his coat pocket. He still wouldn't be satisfied, but that could not be helped. They kept walking.

"Cyrus."

"Hm?"

"This place cold to you? I'm like ice over here." Jules shivered violently, obviously exaggerating for effect, but the man had a point. Cyrus could feel the dark hairs on his arms standing on end. On a sudden flash of instinct he looked up, and instantly regretted it.

A dark figure stood at the railing of the open, loft-like second floor of mysterious containers. Indistinct in the shadows, it remained inhumanly still. Something told Cyrus that the two men had been watched since they had entered the building. Now it was his turn to shiver.

"What did I tell ya, Cy? Cold as a dead man's—what is it?" Jules followed his gaze and let loose a string of noisy curses that would have made Don Whitehorse blush. The figure backed away from the railing, its movements best described as gliding, and Cyrus lost track of it. Jules nervously licked his lips.

"This was a bad idea. Didn't I say so from the start?"

Everyone had, actually. But you don't ignore a summons that carries _his_ seal. Cyrus knew it would be useless to point that out. He idly played with a tassel on his coat, twisting it between his fingers and mentally running through the reasons that they could be meeting with a Nameless One in the middle of the night. None of them were good. A voice intoned from behind him, and he didn't bother wondering how it had gotten there without them noticing.

"The one called Jules will step forward," said the voice, commanding yet distant, in the tone of one who assumed that his orders would be carried out. Jules darted a glance at Cy, then both men turned to face the speaker.

"I'm Jules," he said, taking the smallest step possible that would bring him closer to the Nameless. The figure did not speak for a moment, and Cyrus took the opportunity to examine him more thoroughly.

The Nameless Ones were called Nameless because of their inherently anonymous nature. Cy had never seen one in person, though he had heard stories. They were the eyes, ears and messengers of the highest leader of Liberty's Fist, and sometimes even acted directly on his behalf within the organization. The dark, voluminous cloaks they wore hid body structure and identifying marks, and gloves obscured fingerprints and skin tone. By far their most disconcerting feature, though, was their faces. Because they had none.

To be fair, Cyrus knew that somewhere the men and women serving in this capacity had eyes, mouths and all the other normal features one could expect to find above a person's neck. Yet by all appearances, their hoods were empty, with dark ovals of material sewn into the seams and floating where their faces would be. It was extremely unnerving to meet someone's gaze and find nothing there but blank darkness. That was the point, he imagined. The Nameless swung his head in the stockier man's direction.

"The attack on Zaphias failed," he stated. Another thing that could be said about the Nameless Ones was that they never wasted words, as if they thought they were being charged for their use. The fabric rippled slightly with the breath of his speech.

"Yes, ah, yes. I can explain that," Jules said, attempting to infuse his voice with confidence. He was not by nature a cowardly man. "Y'see, the assassins weren't picked by me. I thought any three of my men and women could take out the one guard. Guess they were overconfident."

"It was your failure. You were the orchestrator."

"We can try again, can't we? I'll choose them myself. Can't trust those idiots under me—" He waved at Cy apologetically. "You know, present company excepted and all." Cyrus was amazed that he could be so flippant, under the circumstances. The dark figure shook its head harshly.

"No." The Nameless put a hard edge on his words. "Advantage has been lost."

This was not going well. Cyrus wanted to say something, wanted to stick up for the cell leader that he was surprised to realize he counted as a friend, but didn't dare. He hated himself for it.

"You will kneel," the faceless man said.

Jules blinked, and Cy tried to somehow transmit _do it_ into the other man's head. Not waiting for Jules to respond, the Nameless smoothly swung around, his heavy-booted foot flying in an arc until it connected with the back of his knee. Jules cried out as his leg collapsed and he fell into a rough approximation of a kneeling position. He grit his teeth, rivulets of sweat coursing down the sides of his face.

"I bring a message from our leader," said the voice.

"Yeah?" Jules said, his voice cracking with the effort. He raised his head from where he had been staring at the warehouse floor.

"This is your message," said the Nameless. Within the next breath, he drew a long, curved sword and whipped it across the man's neck. Cyrus turned his face away from the arc of red droplets, swallowing hard. He had seen many people die. This one, though—he felt sick. It took every ounce of resolve within him to confront the scene.

Jules had slumped to the floor, one hand clutching his throat and eyes widened into a permanent expression of surprise and horror. The Nameless was already facing away from him, as if he had not just snuffed out the man's life with his blade. Who could know what expression hid behind that cloth, though? They couldn't be completely without humanity. It just seemed that way.

"Your name," he said. Cy took in a ragged breath, unsure what to expect but unwilling to defy the man.

"Cyrus. My name is Cyrus."

"Only Cyrus." His tone carried the slightest hint of a question.

"Yes."

The Nameless nodded once.

"You are now the leader of this cell," he said. "You must carry out his plans."

Cyrus snapped his head back in shock, words of protest at the ready. He wasn't even remotely in line to lead Jules's cell, which was responsible for all Fist operations within the capital city. There would be a lot of unhappy people. But the Nameless One's order meant he lived another day, so he let the argument die on his lips. The man waved a leather-glove clad hand through the air.

"You will leave now."

Cyrus obeyed.

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A/N: I am introducing the major original characters early on to establish the plot and conflict, but please don't worry that I'm taking the focus off the ones that you know and love. They are, after all, what this story is ultimately about. If all goes well, I will be posting the third chapter, which returns to more familiar characters, by the end of the weekend.


	3. Distraction

**3. Distraction**

He could smell him approaching before he felt the hand on his shoulder—plain soap under the warm, woodsy scent that announced a recent shave. People who knew Yuri Lowell sometimes said that he had wolf-like senses. He usually ignored this observation; his constant companion, Repede, was far more aware of subtle changes, could smell deceit and fear radiating like heat off the most convincing liars. It was probably the canine's influence over the past several years that trained Yuri to reach out with his senses more than other people, combined with a naturally heightened awareness developed from living alone in the Lower Quarter of Zaphias for much of his childhood.

Mostly alone, anyway. He turned to face his friend, a small smile quirking one corner of his mouth.

"Flynn. Glad to see you've returned to the land of the living."

"Was I that out of it?" The blond ran his fingers over the top of his still-damp hair, looking refreshed but a little confused. They started walking down the hall together, seeming to have no particular destination in mind as their reflections bounced back up at them from the polished floor. The knights posted at carefully measured intervals flew into sharp salutes whenever Flynn passed. Yuri wasn't sure he would ever get used to that. He still remembered when they used to play in the streets with wooden swords.

"After a couple of hours, I got bored and went to see Estelle," Yuri said. "You know how she is. She spent most of the night helping to heal those nobles, so she was pretty tired, too. Just can't win, I guess."

Flynn abruptly stopped walking, pressing fingers to his temple as if he had a headache, and Yuri had to backtrack a few paces until he stood in front of him.

"Hours?" Flynn's brow furrowed. "I had to have been needed somewhere during that time, especially after the attack. I received no summons or messages? Yuri, I find that hard to believe."

In response, Yuri slowly tapped the blunt edge of his sword against his palm several times, smiling devilishly. A horrified expression crept across Flynn's face. It was absolutely priceless, but this was destined to end badly. His hands curled up into fists, knuckles turning white with the tension. Flynn was normally an even-tempered man, but Yuri knew just how to bring out the hotheaded part of him.

"Yuri, I'm the Commandant. You can't just send people away. I'm expected to—"

"If it had been important, I would have woken you up," Yuri interrupted with a shrug. "There wasn't anything important."

Flynn opened his mouth and then closed it, looking aghast. The dark-haired man knew what was coming and closed his eyes.

"Do you think this Empire is some kind of a game? My decisions and actions affect the lives of thousands of people. They are all counting on me. I suppose you wouldn't know what that's like."

The words flowed over Yuri and bounced off like badly aimed arrows. Flynn sucked in a breath, readying the next part of his tirade when a pair of slender arms wrapped around his waist, cutting off whatever he was about to say.

"Flynn!" Estelle poked her head around the commandant's shoulder, smiling. "Hello, Yuri." It appeared that her perky energy was back in full force. She was practically bouncing on her toes with excitement.

"Perfect timing, Estelle," said Yuri.

"It is good to see you, Lady Estellise."

It appeared that Flynn had abandoned his lecture for the moment. Estelle had hooked a gloved hand around his arm and was scolding him about addressing her by such a formal title in private. Yuri shook his head, standing a little apart from their reunion. She was wasting her time. The man was far too concerned about rules and protocol and hierarchy. The pink-haired princess was lucky that he even let her touch him in such a familiar way.

After they had gone through the usual pleasantries, Estelle pursed her lips thoughtfully.

"Sometimes," she said, "I forget what it's like at the castle. Halure is so peaceful." She clasped her hands behind her back, blue-green eyes looking off into the distance. Yuri felt a pang of sympathy. After they had traveled the world together and faced countless dangers, she'd chosen the flowery village as her home precisely to avoid situations like this evening's. Against these wishes, she had been pulled back into it once more. Idly, Yuri wondered if it was somehow his fault. Trouble seemed to follow him.

"I hope that Lord Arin will be alright," she said, abruptly coming out of her reverie. "He was very badly wounded. I used my healing artes, but—" Her expression clouded.

"Hey, you did everything that you could, right?" Yuri shrugged a shoulder, and Flynn threw a half-hearted glare at him over Estelle's head.

"Yes," she said quietly, staring at the floor.

"Time will take care of the rest, Estelle." She nodded mutely. Something seemed to occur to her, then. Her eyes widened and she turned to face Flynn.

"Oh! I'm supposed to tell you."

"What is it?"

"The Council and the knights will hold a meeting in one hour. It will be in the usual room, and concerns what must be done about the recent attack," she said, as if reciting what someone had told her word for word. Considering all the book passages she had memorized, she probably was.

Not for the first time, Yuri was glad that he was no longer with the knights. All the politics and planning just wasn't his style. Sitting through meetings made him twitchy. Flynn thanked Estelle for the information, and she quickly hugged both of them before running back down the hall, probably to find someone else that she needed to inform about the meeting. Her shoes made clicking sounds on the glossy floor.

"Well," said Yuri, smirking at Flynn. "Have fun."

"You know me better than to think I've forgotten," Flynn said pointedly. Yuri groaned.

"Can't you ever drop anything? Look, I get it."

"I don't think you do."

"Well, forgive me for thinking you might need some sleep."

"No."

"What?"

"I will not. There was an attack within the castle walls. One _my_ knights failed to prevent. I only meant to rest for a moment. How do you think it looks if I take a nap for—how many hours?"

"Five. And it looks _sane._"

Flynn sighed.

"They didn't need you then, alright? You're only human, Flynn." Yuri's voice dropped into a lower, softer register. It didn't help.

"I am not _allowed_ to be human. That's the part that you don't get, Yuri. I'm the Commandant."

"Get over yourself."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm leaving."

"You always do."

Yuri snorted, turned on his heel, and walked away.

* * *

Seated at the long table with the Council members and highest-ranking knights, Flynn tried to clear the cobwebs that always formed in his mind after one of his and Yuri's fights. Though in recent months they had come to an understanding of sorts concerning their philosophies about justice, that didn't change the verbal sparring that they had constantly engaged in since childhood. It was frustrating, it was maddening, and it was the way things had always been between them. There was an odd sort of comfort in that, even when the dark-haired man gave Flynn such a headache as to make him wonder why his friendship was still so important to him, why he accepted that for every time they got along splendidly there would be two that devolved into a heated argument.

A thought floated up unbidden, telling him that he knew _exactly_ why, prodding him from places that he would not allow his mind to go at the moment. He roughly pushed it away, instead focusing on the others attending the meeting.

On his left was Sodia, his Sword and second in command. She watched him carefully, cat-like eyes serious, and nodded when she noticed that he was looking at her. For the time being she had been filling the role of his assistant as well, though he wasn't sure whether that post would be permanent. The woman was loyal to a fault, but sometimes the way she looked at him and spoke of him was unsettling. She was an excellent knight, though.

The seats immediately to his right were empty, for the moment. Near the far end of the table, Council members were seated: eight men and two women. And then there was Noran, leaning over his notes, shuffling them, scrawling last-minute notes in the margins. An imposing man with dark hair turned silver at the temples, Noran was the de facto leader of the Council and took his position very seriously. The Councilors were speaking quietly among themselves, while the knights had been disciplined to sit and wait rather than waste breath on idle speculation. Leblanc was there, scowling at no one in particular, and a few seats down from Sodia was Tor.

A Sword Bearer wouldn't normally be invited to a meeting such as this, of course, but his involvement in thwarting the assassination attempt warranted his presence. He was darting interested glances around the room, blue eyes settling on one face then another, then scrutinizing the war maps hanging on the walls. Like the other knights in attendance, he did not wear full armor but instead donned the dark blue, high-collared uniform of non-combatant official Guard business.

The door opened, providing further distraction from the thoughts that Flynn avoided, and everyone rose as Lady Estellise and Master Ioder entered the room together. Estellise smiled and implored everyone to be seated, then took her place next to Flynn. Ioder sat beside her.

"Now we can begin," said Noran, clearing his throat. He sprawled one broad hand across his notes and locked eyes with each person in the room.

"First, a full report on what occurred, from our only first-hand witness," he said, holding one hand out to indicate Tor. The knight stood and looked a little nervous as he took in his audience, but his voice was confident when he briefly recounted the events.

"The woman seemed amused, almost resigned when I asked who had sent her," he finished. "She smiled and didn't say a word. And then she was dead."

Noran looked at him over steepled fingers. "Suicide by poison, correct?"

Tor nodded. "Yes. I think the assassins were—"

"Ah, ah. I hardly see that you're in any position to be _thinking_ anything. Leave that to us, yes?" He directed the knight to be seated, and a look of annoyance flashed over the young man's face. Noran lifted a corner of some of his notes, drummed the other hand's fingers on the table.

"Now, then," he said. "Commandant Flynn Scifo."

Flynn stood, his mind running through scenarios of what the council leader might have to say. He could feel every pair of eyes burning into him.

"Commandant, how many knights are posted at the courtyard at that hour in the evening?"

"Two are on patrol, sir. In each direction." The _sir_ business raised his hackles. Noran was not Emperor, by law held a limited amount of influence over the Empire's affairs, yet he would make trouble if even the Commandant did not give him deference.

"In the courtyard itself?"

"There is always someone nearby. At that hour, there should have been one guard in or very near the courtyard and one on patrol. As Tor was doing, sir."

"Yet there wasn't." He made a thoughtful sound, bringing one hand to his chin. A servant slid around the table and offered a pitcher of chilled wine. Noran casually waved his assent, and the servant poured into a glass that he procured from the voluminous pouch that hung at his side.

"Explain, Sir Flynn." Noran brought the glass to his lips, closing his eyes as he swallowed.

"I cannot," Flynn said softly. "I only know where my men were supposed to be. Perhaps you should ask the knight's captain."

"I have. The knight was, ah, otherwise occupied at the time, it seems."

Flynn raised his eyebrows, unsure what the Councilor was implying.

"No one knows who the woman was. She disappeared, they say. Is this how you train your knights to behave, Commandant? To choose the company of an attractive woman over sworn duty? Hmm. It's perhaps a diverting tactic, but hardly a sound one." Noran chuckled, but his eyes were hard. Flynn was all too aware of every ear listening to the Councilor dress down their Commandant. He had to concentrate on not balling his hands into fists. The man was playing a game, that much was certain.

"Don't you think," Flynn said carefully, "that our time would be better spent discussing the origin of the attack?"

Noran, to Flynn's surprise, waved a hand in the air as if to dismiss the thought.

"Rogue guild members. They always seem to have a vendetta against the Empire. Sometimes they get it in their heads that they should eliminate us entirely, yes?"

Flynn heard a chair scrape the floor, and was surprised again when he saw Tor standing.

"I must disagree, sir. It was more organized than that. They knew where to find the nobles, how many knights would be on duty. And you weren't the one who was facing their blades, their willingness to kill or die in the attempt. It was extremists." The man crossed his arms, looking self-satisfied that he had gotten his theory out. Surprised murmurs rippled down the table. The servant even dropped a glass, but the noise it made when it shattered was lost in the rising voices. Flynn resisted the urge to cover his face with his hands.

Noran worked his mouth, rendered temporarily speechless by the knight's interruption. Reaching for his wine glass, he tossed the rest of its contents into his mouth. When he spoke, he was livid.

"I should have you escorted from this room, boy. You are only here by my _gracious_ invitation. How dare you speak against me so. Why, I am inclined to—"

Something tickled in the back of Flynn's mind as Noran blustered on. Something Tor had said. _They knew_. They had been planning it, organizing it, knew where everyone would be. And then it all clicked together. Flynn's eyes darted to find the servant, but he had left the room. His overstuffed bag sat in the corner of the room, loosely covered by a pile of rolled maps.

"Everyone!" Flynn shouted, not heeding the chaos that the room had descended into after Tor's outburst. "We must leave this room immediately!"

Without waiting to see if anyone obeyed, he grabbed Lady Estellise by the arm and pulled her toward the door, nodding to Sodia as she did the same with Master Ioder. Those that knew and trusted him, which included most of the room's occupants, rose as well. The Councilors who doubted him had no choice but to follow suit.

Everyone in attendance filed out the door as quickly as they could manage. Heart pounding, Flynn flung himself down on top of Estellise as the room behind them was swallowed by a blinding light.


	4. Awakening

**4. Awakening**

The world was dark, and someone was saying his name. At least, he thought so—the voice was muffled and indistinct, like it was underwater or traveling from a great distance. Concentrating on it made the room spin more than it already was. So he didn't. Instead, he cracked one eye open, then the other. A pair of boots filled his field of vision, but the light he was letting in made his skull feel like it was about to crack in two. He snapped his eyes shut again.

"_Flynn._"

Something about the insistence in that voice jolted him back to reality. There had been an explosion in the meeting room. Flynn was sprawled out on his stomach, cheek pressed against the cool tile of the hall. But there had been someone else with him, hadn't there? He jerked his head up, ignoring the pain that shot through his body.

"E-Estellise." A hand pressed lightly on his shoulder, preventing him from rising to his feet.

"She's fine."

"Ah. I can't…think straight." Flynn's mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. He decided to try opening his eyes again, and it wasn't quite as excruciating. The boots he'd seen resolved into Yuri, crouched beside him.

"Yeah. I'll go get Estelle."

Flynn felt that nodding would be unwise, but Yuri didn't wait for his approval. A moment later, Estellise dropped next to him, skirts billowing on the floor. She worked her hands in complicated-looking motions, seeming to pluck the healing power out of the air and weave it into a beautiful pattern of light that left a lingering afterimage on his retinas. With the help of blastia, Flynn could perform some healing artes as well, but nothing on the level of the young princess. Certainly not with her innate abilities.

"I'm _so_ sorry, Flynn," she said. Tears sprang to her eyes. "You were the first one that I healed, then I went on to the others—I didn't get it all. You were hurting. I'm so sorry."

Flynn shook his head and was pleased to find the motion brought no pain.

"Don't blame yourself, Lady Estellise. I'm fine." He smiled to further reassure her.

"Alright," she said, a bit doubtfully. "But you really shouldn't push yourself today."

"I won't."

Satisfied, she returned to her other patients. A glance around the room found most of the meeting's attendants sitting up, though a few hunched over injured limbs or seemed dazed like Flynn had been not long before. A few individuals were conspicuously absent, and he made a note to ask someone about them once he had an opportunity. Ioder was safe; it seemed that Sodia had gotten him far enough away from the blast that he could be heard complaining only of mild ringing in his ears. Flynn felt an immense sense of relief that he had managed to spare both candidates of the Imperial throne from harm.

"Hey." Yuri slid to the floor next to him. "Better?"

Flynn nodded, then raised an eyebrow in mock suspicion.

"I thought you said you were leaving."

"You really shouldn't take me so literally, Flynn." He leaned back, bracing his arms against the tile. "Man. What happened in there?"

Flynn fell silent. From where he sat, he could see one corner of the meeting room through the open door. It was in shambles. The walls were blackened, the rugs charred, the maps and decorative fixtures indistinguishable piles of ash.

"I don't know," he sighed. "Things just keep escalating. I think the other attack was meant to distract us, to get us all in the same room."

"Makes sense."

"I only wish I had figured it out sooner. I'm glad that everyone here seems to be alright, but…it's such a mess."

Yuri nodded solemnly. "At least the cartographer's guild will have plenty of work."

Flynn couldn't help but laugh a little at the deadpan statement. It relieved some of the tension caused by the morning's events. Then Yuri reached out and brushed his fingers against his cheek and jaw line, and suddenly he had to concentrate on breathing.

Yuri held his hand out, palm up. The fingertips were smeared with red.

"Huh. Your ear was bleeding."

"Oh. Was it?" He brought a hand up to feel, ignoring the confused staccato rhythm in his chest and trying to hide what he hoped wasn't an obvious note of disappointment.

"Yeah, but it looks like Estelle took care of it."

Flynn made a vague sound of agreement before standing up and absorbing himself in an examination of the state of his uniform. He noted the layer of dust and chips of tile sticking to it and made a face as he tried to brush some of it off.

"I don't think that's really going to help, man."

Yuri got a withering look in response.

"Neat freak," he teased.

The blond gave up on what he realized was a pointless endeavor and, having recovered from his discomfiture, turned back to Yuri.

"Where are the others? Have you heard anything about injuries?"

Yuri thought for a moment.

"Uh, something about a few Council members. I don't know who all was there, so—"

"Noran?"

Yuri shrugged. He was ever so much help. The blond cast around, looking for someone else to ask.

"I believe I may be able to shed more light on this situation," said a familiar voice from behind him. Flynn turned to find Master Ioder, his royal garments a little worse for wear but otherwise unscathed by the blast. The young prince looked up at him with a serious expression.

"Please," said Flynn, nodding respectfully.

"Noran, Giselle and Sir Leblanc were the last to leave the meeting chamber. You can find them in the castle infirmary. Their statuses are unknown to me."

Flynn thanked the fair-haired Imperial candidate, who briefly bowed his head before returning to help Estellise lift a man—Kent, another Councilor—to his feet. So, Leblanc had been injured. Flynn hoped it was not severe; the man was a dedicated knight with many years of experience, having served since before the current Commandant had been born. If anyone knew how to deal with the new extremist threat, it would be him. Flynn remembered hearing about one of Brave Vesperia's first official jobs, working in cooperation with Leblanc and his men to thwart an attempt by Cumore's sister Mimula to aid the extremist cause for her own selfish gains. He wondered if that incident could be connected with the recent activity, if the same people she wished to manipulate had coordinated the attacks.

"I must go see him," he said, and Yuri blinked at the abrupt statement.

"Who, Noran?"

"Of course not. I meant Sir Leblanc."

"Oh. Are you sure? Because you asked _me_ about—"

"I do not," said Flynn, deliberately and emphatically, "want to see Noran."

Yuri raised his hands in surrender, but his smile turned into a perplexed frown as he focused on something over Flynn's shoulder. The blond repressed a sigh. He was done with surprises, considering the past few hours.

"That's unfortunate," said Noran's unmistakable voice, "because here I am. And you, Sir Flynn, are not going anywhere."

* * *

The Councilor pulled the two men aside into a meeting room adjacent to the one they had evacuated. Yuri crossed his arms as he leaned against the wall and regarded Noran with open suspicion. Though Flynn had learned to tolerate the more power-driven individuals of the Empire in his rise to the top of the knights, his childhood friend never bothered to hide the fact that he despised them.

"Master Ioder said that you were injured," said Flynn.

"And so I was." Noran winced as he flexed his right hand.

Flynn nodded. Considering the relatively brief amount of time that had passed since the explosion, it must have been determined that Noran did not need any immediate surgeries. But it still seemed odd for him to be discharged so quickly.

"Wonderful. Glad to see you're the picture of health. Now what did you drag us in here for?" Yuri growled.

"I did not drag _you_ anywhere," said Noran. "You followed us, not unlike—well, I would compare you to a lapdog, but I find that they are far more civilized."

To Yuri's credit, he merely huffed angrily and glared daggers into the back of the man's head. Flynn breathed easier, but Noran kept talking.

"After all, it was you providing idle entertainment for our Commandant in his quarters as the assassins closed in on their targets, was it not?" The Councilor nodded to himself, then turned to face Yuri. "Yes, that was the report I received. A man scaling the outer walls, climbing through the window. Quite suspect, but they say it's a common occurrence with you, Sir Flynn."

Flynn couldn't help but notice with irritation that the man used his name rather than his rank when he was being condescending. Which, incidentally, was most of the time. Noran was closing in on something, and the blond man wished that for once he could figure out what his angle was before he went in for the kill.

"Get to the point," said Yuri, eyes narrowed.

"I'm afraid I have none," said Noran. "Not with you, at any rate. I have nothing more to say on the matter."

Yuri tightened his hand into a fist, then allowed it to loosen and fall to his side. The Councilor watched the motion with a smug kind of interest.

"Blood on your hands," he sneered. "How utterly appropriate."

"Yeah, you can go to hell."

Noran's eyes flashed and he seemed poised for a typically dramatic response, but Yuri wasted no time in making an exit, shutting the heavy wooden door behind him. The room suddenly felt very small and isolated.

"Charming, the company you keep," said Noran, and Flynn found himself mentally echoing Yuri's parting statement. "But he was right about one thing."

The blond quirked an eyebrow.

"It _is_ time I get to the point. Giselle is dead."

Flynn's chest constricted. The woman was one of the most influential members of the Council, often working closely with Noran in coordinating the Empire's affairs. Though she was less focused on personal power, their relationship was a symbiotic one. She did not impede his progress, turning a blind eye to any moral gray areas he might inhabit, and he relied on her organizational skills and drive to get things accomplished.

"Yes, you do see," said the man, apparently registering Flynn's stricken expression. "It is an unacceptable loss."

The young Commandant opened his mouth, found he lacked a proper response, and closed it again. He wondered numbly what Noran wanted from him. An apology? An explanation?

"I am sorry," he found himself saying. "What would you have me do?"

The Council leader shrugged his broad shoulders, too casually. He settled an intense gaze on Flynn and began pacing around him.

"You must see it from our side of things," the man said, hands clasped behind him. "Two attacks boldly carried out within the Imperial castle walls within the same night. This place is meant to be like a fortress, you realize. I trust that I do not have to ask you how many knights are posted here."

Flynn clamped down on his frustration. The man was asking him to be everywhere at all times, to prevent all possible threats. It was hardly less than what he asked of himself, and he had failed in that. Yet he had noticed the explosive device, cleared the room before more damage could be done. Did that count for nothing, even if it had not saved Giselle?

"This sort of event shakes the citizens' faith in their Commandant, I fear." Noran frowned, his eyes sharp. "They must be able to sleep at night, never wonder if the sound of bombs will wake them."

"I see." Somehow, Flynn doubted that the Councilor spent much time worrying about how well the citizens of Zaphias slept.

"I hope that you do," he said, shaking his head sadly. "You will, after all, be facing the consequences of your many unforgivable failures."

Flynn's eyes widened at this statement. Fear dug a pit in his stomach, cold and sickening.

"You don't have the authority," he spat. The accusation sounded weak, even to him, and Noran chuckled.

"I have the Council. They stand with me, Sir Flynn."

He couldn't do this. Flynn told himself, over and over, that he could not. But his denial changed nothing. The man smiled, and when he spoke his voice was solemn, commanding, and laden with undisguised satisfaction.

"Flynn Scifo. You are hereby stripped of your rank as Commandant and expelled from the service of the Empire."


	5. Fallen

**5. Fallen**

He had found the slim volume in the chest that sat at the end of Flynn's bed, buried beneath what few possessions his friend had brought with him from the Lower Quarter. At first he suspected it was a journal of some sort, and he was fairly confident that he wouldn't have read that. What it ended up being, though, Yuri thought was even better. Poetry. Somewhere in the great Flynn Scifo's busy schedule, he found the time to fill the pages with reflections on various subjects, written in a broad, looping hand. To Yuri's surprise, though he was untrained and perhaps unfairly biased, it was actually pretty good.

He probably should have stopped reading when some of the poems started making the tips of his ears burn. It was all in the abstract imagery and word choice—no names, or even specific pronouns—but he quickly realized that he had stumbled upon something intensely private. But it was like the aftermath of a particularly gruesome battle. He couldn't tear his eyes away.

"Hey, listen to this one, Repede." The dagger-wielding canine, curled up on a rug with his head between his front paws, cracked an eye open and whimpered.

"Oh, come on. It's interesting."

Nearby, a door creaked open and immediately slammed shut again. Flynn must have returned. Yuri tucked the book of poetry under the covers and stepped through the doorway separating the bedroom from the sitting area.

Flynn was on the ground with his back against the door. His arms were hanging loosely across his knees, head resting against them. He was just sitting there breathing, slowly and raggedly, in and out. Looking at him curled up on himself like that, it struck Yuri how _young_ he looked. With everything they had experienced since childhood, all the responsibilities either taken on or thrust upon them, it was easy to forget that the two men were barely out of their teens. Yuri didn't feel like that should be true. He doubted Flynn did, either. Yet it was a fact he confronted as he regarded his friend's vulnerable position.

Yuri stood there for at least a full minute before Flynn acknowledged his presence. He lifted his head just enough to make eye contact, and what Yuri found there shook him to the core. He looked unfocused, absent and, most of all, lost.

"Flynn," he said, quietly. "What did that bastard do to you?"

The blond's stoic expression began to crumble; he buried his face again, exhaled unsteadily.

"Yuri," he said into his knees.

"Yeah, I'm here."

Flynn looked up again, this time seeming more lucid.

"Yuri, promise me something."

The dark-haired man wasn't the biggest fan of making blind promises before he knew the conditions involved. This was Flynn, though. He nodded, slow and uncertain.

"Promise," said Flynn, "that you won't harm Noran."

"What—"

"Swear it." There was an unmistakable edge to his voice. He wouldn't let this one go.

"Alright, alright. I swear." For now. Besides, seeing Flynn like this, he could deny him nothing. Yuri sighed.

"I'm going to regret making that promise once you tell me what's going on, aren't I?"

A bitter smile flickered on Flynn's lips. He wordlessly rose to his feet and crossed to the other room, Yuri following behind him. Once in the bedroom, Flynn stretched out on top of the covers on his stomach. Repede padded over and nudged his hand, which was dangling off the edge of the bed. He rested his head on the mattress as Flynn reached out to pet him, then returned to his spot on the rug—watching them, now, instead of sleeping.

Perched on the bed's edge, Yuri studied his friend. Flynn laid very still, face hidden by the thick pillows. Yuri wanted to be patient, but he didn't think he could bear it much longer.

"You've got to tell me what happened," he said, resting a hand on the shoulder nearest to him. Flynn half-turned and looked up at him. Looked through him, really.

"Fine. I'll just start guessing. Okay, you got lectured for something that Noran stupidly thinks is your fault. Am I close?"

"Stop," said Flynn, almost whispering. He sat up and clenched a fistful of silk. His shoulders shook as hot tears slid off his chin and struck the bed, his uniform, the back of his friend's hand. Yuri froze. It had been a long time since he had seen Flynn break down like this.

"Hey," he said, with forced cheer. "You'll ruin your fancy sheets if you keep that up."

Flynn raised his head to look at him, eyes red and bleary. "It doesn't matter, Yuri. They aren't even mine anymore."

Realization spread through Yuri's mind as if he had plunged into icy water. He knew, instantly, why Flynn had made him promise. Cold anger bubbled to the surface and dominated his thoughts.

"Stripped of my rank and expelled from the Empire's service," Flynn said bitterly. Speaking the words sent fresh, silent tears in their trails along his cheek.

"Expelled," said Yuri, surprised by the word. "So, you mean—completely? Not just demoted?"

Flynn shrugged, staring into the covers. "So it seems."

"…damn," he breathed.

It was the only response that sprang to mind. He couldn't even begin to wrap his mind around the repercussions that this event would have for his friend. Deep introspection wasn't really his thing. Yuri had to admit it was awkward and painful to see Flynn broken like this, though. The blond had always possessed a quiet strength; he was unfailingly idealistic, sure of his beliefs and the things that he set out to do.

Yuri couldn't take this. He needed to _act_, so he stood.

"This is all because of those extremists, right?"

"Well, yes, if you want to—"

"So, we take them out."

Flynn's eyes widened as he turned to face his friend.

"But the Council—"

"Forget the Council. We'll find a way around them."

"Yuri…"

"Hm?"

"Stop interrupting me. It's rude."

Yuri barked a laugh and, for a moment, the ghost of a smile appeared on Flynn's face.

"I doubt all this would be as easy as you make it seem," he said, sobering.

The dark-haired man shrugged. "I didn't say it would be. We don't even know where these people are, who's leading them, what their agenda is." He ticked the items off on his fingers, shrugged again. "It really doesn't matter. I know you, Flynn. You can't just stand back and watch this play out."

Flynn met his dark eyes steadily. "No. No, I cannot."

Before Yuri could respond, an insistent rapping at the door made all three of the room's inhabitants turn their heads toward the sound. Yuri shot a questioning look toward Flynn, but the blond shook his head.

"I should be the one to go," he said, taking a breath and wiping at his face with the side of his hand. "Well?"

"Yeah, you're fine." It was, of course, a lie. Flynn looked better than he had a few minutes before, but his eyes bore the tell-tale redness and sheen of recent tears. That couldn't be helped, so there was no use mentioning it. The blond walked back into the sitting room to answer the door as Yuri found a vantage point where he could watch.

What entered the room was more a force of nature than a visitor. Sodia flung herself through the door, nearly tackling Flynn into an embrace, then pushed him away. Yuri raised an eyebrow and glanced over at Repede, who whined softly.

"Ah, Sodia…"

"Don't say a word, Flynn Scifo," she said, violet eyes flashing. "They told me what happened. About Giselle. Everything." The young woman certainly accommodated easily into referring to the man by his given name. During all of Yuri's rather unpleasant encounters with her, it had always been "Sir Flynn" this and "the Commandant" that.

Flynn appeared completely overwhelmed by this reaction. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and sank down into the nearest armchair, speechless.

"I do not know what they said to you, Sodia," he finally said, "but rest assured that I did all that I could to protect everyone at the meeting."

She sniffed. "I know that."

They both fell silent.

"They say you failed the Empire, that you endangered everyone." Yuri had to listen closely to catch her quiet words. "That—that you're not fit to serve with the knights."

"And who do you believe?" said Flynn, gently. She shook her head and didn't look at him, braid swinging against her neck. The blond man stood and stepped toward her.

"Sodia, I—"

"C-Commandant," she said.

"You must no longer refer to me by that title," said Flynn, wearily.

Sodia bit her lip and would not meet his gaze as she spoke, rapidly as if she were afraid that she would otherwise not get all the words out.

"That is not what I meant. The new Commandant…they chose me. As Leblanc is still critically injured. It will be announced this evening. I was only told a moment ago."

Flynn visibly paled, slumped back into the chair and pressed a hand against his forehead.

"They sure didn't waste any time," muttered Yuri.

Sodia looked uncomfortable, shifting from one foot to the other as she watched Flynn, who was staring fixedly at the carpet. She cleared her throat.

"I will go now," she said. Flynn only nodded absently. He did not watch as she gave him a pained look before leaving the room, not bothering to close the door behind her. After she left, he looked over at Yuri's hiding place.

"Were you listening?" he asked.

"Yeah."

Flynn exhaled, rubbed his hands over his face. "I should not be surprised. I am not, really. But to hear it from her…"

"I know."

The blond man walked back into the other room, his expression neutral. He knelt by the bed and reached under it to retrieve a large bag, unfastened its pockets and compartments.

"What are you doing?" said Yuri, knowing the question was an obvious one but wanting to say something.

"Gathering my things." Flynn opened the wardrobe and retrieved what few pieces of clothing actually belonged to him; he would, of course, be leaving his Imperial uniforms and armor behind. After closing the elegantly carved doors, he turned his attention to the chest, gently lifting each item—many of them were mementos of his parents—and finding a place for them in the bag.

A look of panic and confusion crossed Flynn's face when he reached the bottom of the chest. He scanned the room, eyes darting from place to place, and Yuri groaned inwardly. The volume of poetry. His friend returned to the wardrobe, opened drawers, looked under the bed—and pulled back the covers. The book fell out of the corner of sheets where Yuri had hidden it and Flynn looked puzzled, then alarmed.

"I didn't have that there," he said under his breath, and his eyes snapped over to Yuri. The dark-haired man attempted to make his face as bland and innocent as possible.

"You read this," Flynn said, waving the volume under his friend's nose.

"Well, not much of it…" Yuri darted his eyes away.

"Right. You are such a liar." He laughed, humorlessly.

"Huh," said Yuri. "I think it's snowing."

Flynn turned around. Through the pane of the castle window, large white flakes floated down and were tossed into swirls by the wind. They settled thickly in angled corners, slowly coating the roofs and gardens. The two men walked over to watch, leaning against the cold glass.

"Incredible," said Flynn.

"Yeah," Yuri agreed. "So, was the dark river supposed to represent—"

"I'm going to _kill_ you, Yuri Lowell."

He laughed and tried to duck out of reach as Flynn cuffed him across the shoulder. They stood there together, making plans, as a curtain of snow fell on the capital city.


	6. Encounters

**6. Encounters**

By the time that Flynn and Yuri walked across the castle grounds, the sun was high in the sky. The snowfall had not lasted, late as it was in the season, part of a final snap of frigid temperatures before the blossoms and leaf buds could appear. Flynn rubbed his hands together, stuck them deeper in coat pockets in an attempt to fend off the numbing cold.

The coats were a gift from some of the wealthier members of the so-called Defense Force. The fan club, made up mostly of women who admired certain higher-ranking knights, had provided Flynn with equal parts flattery and embarrassment when he'd learned that he was their primary focus. He wondered, examining the handsome coats, how the members would deal with their object of admiration once they learned that he had fallen from his pedestal. At least he finally had an occasion to wear the finely-crafted gift—ash-gray wool that hit mid-thigh, a double row of shiny buttons, a lining of sleek white fur. The one he had lent to Yuri was similar, though his selection of the one with darker colors came as no surprise.

They made their way through the frozen courtyards and gardens surrounding the castle. Yuri had suggested the route in order to avoid more uncomfortable encounters that could delay their departure. The chill in the air made run-ins with other citizens unlikely, but the silence was somewhat eerie. Many of the fountains were not running during the winter, neglected pools of water gathering dirt and algae. It was especially startling, then, to hear a very familiar voice carry from a nearby garden.

"…that they would _do_ that to him," Estellise was saying. Yuri and Flynn exchanged curious glances and hurried over to the archway that served as the garden's entrance.

The princess was seated on a stone bench facing a young knight with his back to the other two men. The red-brown curls were a distinctive enough feature to identify him as Tor Altiren, and his voice only confirmed it.

"I know, Stella," he said softly. "We're going to fix this."

Yuri arched an eyebrow and mouthed _Stella?_ at Flynn, who could only shrug. He had often thought "Estelle" was too informal, so this was worse. They turned their attention back to Estellise, who was staring at the folded hands in her lap. She shivered a little and adjusted the fur wrap that lay across her shoulders.

"You're freezing. I knew we shouldn't have come out here."

She shook her head, smiling.

"I wanted to," she said. Tor stood and sat on the bench next to her, cupped her face in his hands.

"Hang on a minute," Yuri muttered. Flynn could practically feel him going into protective mode and held an arm out in front of his chest to prevent him from rushing into the garden. And then, as they watched, Tor drew Estellise's lips to his. It was not, apparently, the first time this had happened; she wrapped her arms around his neck in a very familiar manner, blushing lightly.

"_Now_ can we go?" Yuri crossed his arms.

"Yes."

The two men strode across the pathway and reached the couple as they separated from their embrace. Tor noticed them first, looking up to find the dark and golden-haired faces regarding him with great interest and not a little suspicion. He smiled weakly.

"Ah, Sir Flynn and…Yuri, right?"

"Oh!" said Estellise. She covered her mouth and nose with her hands, eyes widening.

"Estelle, you won't mind if we talk to this guy for a minute," Yuri said, too cheerfully. They looked at each other, then Tor nodded curtly. He rose and followed them to the other side of the garden.

"Is something the matter?" he asked. "I hope it isn't that one of you feels some claim to her."

Yuri made a strange face and Flynn shook his head ruefully.

"Nah, it's not like that," said Yuri. "Just think of us as big brother, times two."

"That's comforting." Tor laughed. "Now I understand why Stell—Lady Estellise said she was afraid to tell you about us."

"I think it's a little late for you to be 'Lady Estellise'-ing," said Yuri, eyebrow raised. The knight cleared his throat and suddenly became very interested in examining the dead plants lying at his feet.

"How long have you and Estellise…known each other?" Flynn asked, attempting to turn the conversation in a direction a bit more civil. Tor looked up at him with a grateful expression.

"Well, I've been acquainted with her for a while, but once I was permanently posted on patrol in the castle when you replaced Alexei as Commandant—ah, I mean…"

"I take it that you've heard, then."

Tor nodded solemnly. "Doesn't change anything for me, Sir. Those Councilors can play their political games, but you're the rightful leader of the knights as far as I'm concerned. They're probably setting Sodia up as some kind of puppet Commandant." He frowned, but as he spoke Flynn felt a surge of gratitude.

"Your loyalty is appreciated," he said. "I do fear that Sodia has some difficult decisions ahead of her."

An uncomfortable, solemn sort of silence followed, and Flynn thought about coincidence. Tor in the courtyard, defeating the assassins; Tor's romantic involvement with Estellise. Before the attack, Flynn hadn't even given the young knight much thought, at least not any more than the other members of his Guard. Now it seemed he was everywhere. Of course, Altiren had an impressive service record and had been entrusted with some of the most secure areas of the castle—the courtyard the assassins had targeted, the one he was stationed at several hours out of the day, was right below the quarters of the Imperial candidates. It was the same one, in fact, where a certain young princess could often be found reading in the sunlight, on the days when the castle library felt too dusty and oppressive.

Flynn smiled. So. It wasn't coincidence at all. Where the circumstances all collided was that the assassins had found their noble targets in a place where Tor would be near at hand.

"What?" said Yuri, noticing his amused expression.

"I'll tell you later."

"Right," said Tor uneasily. "So, ah, are we done here?" He looked back and forth between the two of them. Yuri smirked.

"I don't know, Flynn. Should we let him get back to Estelle—sorry, Stella?"

"Maybe, but we'd better be certain he deserves her."

"Yeah. She's a princess, after all."

"And very innocent."

"Uh-huh. She's a fighter and stubborn as hell, but in other ways she's pretty fragile."

"Mm. Like a snowflake." At this comparison, Flynn could see Yuri struggling not to laugh, but this went unnoticed by the increasingly flustered-looking knight, whose wide blue eyes darted between them.

"Wait," he said. "I haven't…I mean, we haven't…but if we _did_, I'd…"

"Choose your next words," said Yuri, "very carefully." His hand settled pointedly on the pommel of his sword, and Tor swallowed. Flynn felt a little bad for him, really. The Imperial candidate may not have had any immediate family living to interrogate her suitors, but the one she'd inherited through her group of friends more than made up for it.

"Don't get the wrong idea," said Flynn. "We are only trying to look out for Estellise. She's…a very special person."

Tor nodded earnestly. "Yes. She really is. And way out of my league," he added with a smile. "But I love her."

Flynn blinked at the bluntly spoken statement. "Have you told her that?"

The knight hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

"Man," said Yuri, crossing his arms. "No one ever tells me anything these days. Anyway, Estelle can take care of herself. Just had to make sure you're not some kind of pervert or something."

"Y-Yuri?" Estellise's voice could be heard, thinly, from behind the hedges that the men had walked behind for their conversation. "Don't be mean to him…"

All three men laughed at the admonishment that was so typically _her_, relieving some of the tension between them. Yuri shrugged and made a motion indicating they should go back. When they reappeared and walked toward her bench, looking amused rather than aggressive, Estellise relaxed visibly. Tor moved to sit beside her, but first glanced back at Yuri and Flynn and playfully raised an eyebrow as if asking for permission. Flynn nodded with mock seriousness.

"Yeah, carry on," said Yuri, waving his hand through the air. Tor grinned and wrapped his arm around Estellise's waist. She beamed up at him, and Flynn couldn't help noticing that they really did make a rather attractive couple. They looked very comfortable together and Flynn felt a little regretful that he hadn't been told earlier, wondered how long it would have been before he found out if he hadn't happened upon them like this.

Abruptly, he realized that Yuri had already turned around and started heading toward the garden's exit. He hurried to catch up with him.

"Come on, Flynn. Places to go, extremist plots to disrupt."

"I think we need to actually find them, first."

"Wait." Tor's voice called out behind them. He rose and walked over.

"You're still planning to deal with this on your own?"

Flynn nodded.

"As far as my job goes, I probably shouldn't tell you about this, but you've been unfairly deposed, I think." He took a breath. "That servant in the meeting, the one that planted the bomb? Our spies found him. Where he was last seen, anyway. It's in the Lower Quarter; I understand you both know the area well."

"Extremely," Yuri said dryly.

"Right. So, some of the knights are organizing a search for him. You'd have the advantage if you went there now. Maybe you could get information from him before they get there. I don't trust what Noran would do with it, anyway."

"Thank you," said Flynn, smiling as he turned to Yuri. "Well, then. Maybe we can trust him with Estellise, after all."

"Yeah, we'll see," Yuri smirked. "But really. Thanks. That will help us a lot."

Tor nodded briefly. They shook hands, Flynn shifted the strap of his bag on his shoulder and the two men set out toward the streets they had wandered together as children.


	7. Abandoned

**7. Abandoned**

The building was falling apart. Its windows held only jagged teeth of glass around the edges, evidence of countless rocks thrown out of malice or boredom. Those inside gathered together in a central room upstairs, as far away from the reach of the bone-chilling wind as possible. One hunched down on a makeshift chair made from an overturned bucket. Another, more restless, paced around the room. He paused in his back and forth movement, looking agitated.

"He should have been here hours ago. Something went wrong."

The third man, leaning against a wall with his dark, muscular arms crossed, frowned and shook his head.

"Everything in the world could have gone wrong. Like last night."

The first speaker exhaled sharply. "Don't remind me."

"Speaking of that," piped up a younger voice, raising his head from where he had been leaned forward with elbows resting on his knees. "Anyone else…rubbed the wrong way by last night's mission?"

"Lucas, don't."

His tone of warning went unheeded. "Three members of our cell, gone," the youth said. "And for what? Are we even sure that those nobles needed to die?"

The big man grunted, and the other ran his hands through shaggy brown hair, looking uncomfortable. After a moment, he walked over toward Lucas and scraped a barrel along the floor so that he could sit next to him.

"Listen," he said. "They volunteered for that mission. Everyone here was told the risks when they joined up. Besides, I've got my theories about the targets."

Lucas looked at him expectantly, though his expression was still a slightly dubious one.

"Actually, it was Marten's idea at first. We talked about it, after we found out about the second mission." He took a breath. "We may have been a diversion. Of sorts." He held out one hand when the youth opened his mouth angrily.

"Before you say anything, I do know that the noble targets were involved in some shady business. Funding some of the more ruthless underground groups in Zaphias, the kind that makes everyone's lives more difficult. And dangerous."

"But they weren't the real goal," said Lucas, sullenly. "Is that what you're trying to tell me, Leon?"

"Maybe." He shrugged. "Does that answer your questions?"

The boy smiled, a bit sadly. "Not really."

Leon's brow furrowed with confusion, and Marten shook his head.

"This," Lucas began. "It just—doesn't feel like what I joined the Fist for. Assassination. Suicide missions. _Bombs_."

This provoked a deep chuckle from Marten. "Kid, we've been blowing things up since before your parents knew where to put the parts that made you. And something like us has been around for a long time before that."

"Gross," the boy said, raising a dark eyebrow. "I mean it, though. Explosives to make a point are one thing, but—okay, what if Lady Estellise was in there. Is she our enemy, just because she might be Empress one day? 'Cause I don't know about you, but I don't want to be a part of the group that kills her."

The other two men went silent, staring into the swiftly falling darkness of the evening.

"You don't understand," Leon said. "There's reasons—"

"I met her once," the youth went on, quietly, not meeting the others' eyes. "In Mantaic. She was kinder than anyone that I'd ever met, or have met since."

"Lucas," said Marten, voice stern. "She's a part of it. She believes in the Empire, what it stands for. She's a cog in the machine."

"So she should die? Is that what you're saying?" A look of disgust flashed across his face, pulled down the corners of his mouth.

"What I'm saying is that we have a corrupt, broken government," the big man went on, getting louder with each word. "It's been that way for _generations_. The Empire tramples us, steals from us, and then ignores our cries for help. I don't think I need to remind you that my wife—" The muscles in his jaw clenched, and the rest remained unsaid but understood.

It was a story that they knew well. Marten's wife had been shopping in the public quarter when a group of men attacked and kidnapped her. He was a fairly important merchant—a silver smith whose clients included nobles and royalty, even receiving the occasional commission from as far away as Aspio in the north. But when he received word that Leanna was being held for a ransom far beyond his means, he had gone to the Council for advice and, he fervently hoped, assistance. They had turned him away, told him they had a strict hands-off policy with thieves and brigands. The Empire had been his last hope, and without that, he could only gather what money he had invested in his business and offer it to the kidnappers. He received the grisly, heartbreaking evidence of his failure the next day. Having lost both his love and his livelihood, he found Liberty's Fist and threw himself into working for the organization.

Lucas stared at the floor, looking miserable. The pain of Marten's loss, of all the similar stories that had brought other people to the resistance group, hung heavy in the air.

"But surely," he said in a small voice, "there must be another way. One that isn't so—"

He trailed off there.

"What?" coaxed Leon, apparently deciding it would be prudent to avoid giving the big man another chance to vent his frustrations on the youth. Lucas's lips twisted ironically, gaze remaining fixed on his shoes.

"Extreme," he finished.

"Geez, whose side _are_ you on?"

The three men turned to see the owner of the playful—if somewhat snide—voice, framed by the doorway. A moderately tall man, but otherwise nondescript: brown hair, brown eyes, average build. His looks were neither attractive nor repulsive, just unremarkable. The only feature that could pick him out of a crowd was his smirk, which he was displaying now as he walked into the room. There was a bag slung over his shoulder, and he let it drop to the floor, though not before giving it a look of sheer disdain. Out of its opening peeked some of the crumpled brown fabric that had been his disguise. Prodding it further into the corner with his foot, he turned back to Lucas.

"Having doubts?" He tilted his head, still wearing that smirk. The boy shook his head slowly, eyes wide.

"Good," he said, flashing an almost predatory grin. "Wouldn't want to have to tell Cyrus that the brother he practically begged us to take in was questioning our methods. But, you know, we'll let this slide. It's not like you should be expected to understand, anyway."

The boy scowled up at him. "Why not?"

"Because," he said with a shrug. "You're just a kid."

"I'm fourteen," Lucas protested.

"Exactly." The man clapped him on the shoulder, then looked down at his hand with a curious expression. "Huh. Lucas, I know it's been snowing, but you're shivering like an abused animal."

"I grew up in the desert," he muttered, tucking his arms against his chest. An uncomfortable minute of silence ensued and Leon cleared his throat, drawing the other man's attention.

"All this friendly banter aside," he said sardonically, "I think we have more important things to discuss. Warren. Mission report?" The man straightened.

"We took out Giselle," he said, lifting his chin proudly. Walking around the room, Warren recounted his involvement in the attack, from his infiltration of the servants' quarters through his contact there to the events of the meeting itself. He dramatized his shock at their group being called out by a member of the Royal Guard as the origin of the first assassination attempt, described the wine glass slipping from his fingers and shattering into countless tiny pieces before he managed to plant the bomb and make his escape. In his element, Warren made wild gestures as the story came to a close, stood in the doorway with the dimming twilight casting shadows on the room. As the others watched, a length of sharp steel pressed against his throat, just short of drawing blood. The one who wielded the blade, standing behind him, cast a cold, imperious gaze around the room before he spoke.

"I am Flynn Scifo, of the Imperial Knights," he said, with a tone of unyielding authority. "If you do not do exactly as I say, that glass will not be the only thing in pieces."

* * *

Flynn was using his commanding voice. Yuri _liked_ his commanding voice, and allowed himself the briefest of grins behind the blond man's back. On the few occasions where he was very honest with himself, he'd admit that half the reason he riled him up and pressed his buttons so much was because the exasperated lectures broke Flynn away from the polite, mild-mannered side of his personality that he preferred to show to the world, breaking the barriers that concealed the self-assured, fiery, take-no-prisoners Flynn that normally only made its appearance in moments like this one. Of course, no one saw that side of him more than Yuri, particularly the frustrated yelling part. The other half of the reason for their frequent disagreements? Well, that was the part that was unintentional, sometimes painful, and not very fun.

The effects of Flynn's words on the occupants of the room were immediate. Two of them, one a heavily-muscled man with a shaved head and the other lanky and somewhat disheveled in appearance, scattered without regard for the fate of their companion. They had apparently planned an escape route out one of the windows that lined the far wall and leapt through, their feet connecting with something below with a dull thud. A moment later, low growling and shouts of alarm could be heard. Yuri chuckled inwardly. Repede would keep them occupied, and prevent them from bringing back more of their friends.

With his free hand, Flynn pushed his captive—the "servant" from the meeting, by the description he had given—toward the center of the room. Yuri sidestepped around them and strode over to a figure huddled in the corner: a teenaged boy, not too much older than Karol by the look of it, with short black hair and sun-dark skin. Apparently he hadn't been included in the escape plan or, more likely, had panicked at the strangers' appearance.

"Hey," said Yuri, standing over the boy but cautious enough to keep him out of arms' length. He definitely knew better than to underestimate someone for their youth or size. The kid seemed pretty overwhelmed, though. Behind him, Yuri could hear Flynn asking pointed questions about the man's involvement in the attack, and receiving little in response that would be helpful—or repeatable in polite company.

"He a friend of yours?" Yuri jerked a thumb toward the brown-haired man.

"No," said the boy, more quickly and vehemently than expected. He seemed to realize this when Yuri's eyebrows shot up, and let out a frustrated sigh. "Well, we're in the same…but it's not like…I mean, he's not very nice."

Yuri couldn't help but laugh a bit at the muddled explanation.

"Sounds complicated," he said, voice laced with obvious mirth. The boy nodded, staring at the floor. It was time to take a risk. "So, what's your name?"

The boy's head snapped up, eyes flashing with—something. Pride? Defiance?

"Why? What are you going to do with it if I tell you?"

Yuri knew false bravado when he saw it, and this kid was putting on an act worthy of one of the theater guild, Showtime's productions. He spread his hands before him in a gesture of innocence.

"Nothing, really. What _could_ I do with it? Because I'm guessing you're not one of the leaders." A corner of the boy's mouth twitched upward. "Anyway, I'm Yuri. Yuri Lowell."

"I know," he replied, quietly. "I've seen you before. With Lady Estellise, and your other friends." The words rushed out all at once, and he looked surprised that he had said them.

"Huh," said Yuri. They had, of course, been all over the world in the past year and visited most of the major cities of Terca Lumireis multiple times. It was definitely possible that this kid had seen them somewhere. They were a memorable bunch, to say the least.

The boy made eye contact, looked away again as a conflicted expression passed over his face, then huffed out a breath. "Lucas." He thrust a hand toward Yuri, whose lips curled into a small smile as he grasped it.

As Yuri released the brief handshake, Flynn appeared at his shoulder. He looked completely frayed and worn out. When he spoke, his voice was a bit hoarse, and Yuri was amazed that he'd been able to tune out his friend's interrogation so thoroughly considering the volume it must have reached. Well, he'd had practice.

"Learn anything?"

Yuri couldn't help feeling a little smug. "Yeah. His name's Lucas." He indicated the youth, relishing the look of surprise on Flynn's face.

"Why would he—" Flynn shook his head. "Nevermind, that's not important. Has he told you anything else of interest? Mine isn't being very cooperative." He punctuated the statement with a weary look back at the man, still within range of Flynn's sword if he made any sudden movements.

"He won't tell you anything." Lucas glanced between them, his words producing a wry smile from Flynn.

"I was beginning to get that impression," he said. He gave Yuri a look that translated to something like _who _is_ this kid?_ and the dark-haired man just shrugged a shoulder. All he could tell was that he didn't really seem like terrorizing-the-citizens material, and Yuri considered himself a pretty good judge of character. It was that sensitivity which heightened his disgust with the higher-ups of the Empire, one of the main reasons that made him unable to in good conscience continue serving in the knights. That, at least, was an aspect of the extremists that he could get behind. It was the whole trying to kill his friends thing that he had issues with.

"Lucas," he said, acting on a sudden impulse. "You don't like this guy, right?" He nodded toward the bomb-planter, who narrowed his eyes.

"Well…"

"So you wouldn't mind telling us who he works for, where he came from? We're just trying to stop things like last night and this morning from happening anymore. To be honest," he whispered conspiratorially near Lucas's ear, "I don't like the Empire much either. That's why I'm in a guild. It's called Brave Vesperia. Heard of us?"

The boy started nodding, then caught himself.

"Wait," he said, suddenly suspicious. "He said he was in the Imperial Knights." Lucas pointed at Flynn, who stiffened. Yeah, so he had misrepresented himself a little for effect. They had decided on that angle because it was unlikely that word had spread beyond the knights themselves until the official announcement, and even if it had, Flynn's attachment to his rank still carried enough authority and intimidation to likely be helpful in their situation. Besides, in Yuri's estimation, he _was_ still of the knights. He was pretty sure his blond friend could never truly stop being one, regardless of what Noran did officially. Still, he could use this.

"Uh, he lied."

"Yuri…"

Flynn's admonishing tone got ignored, as usual. "We're not part of the Empire. We just don't want people to keep getting hurt. It's about justice." Yuri saw another inscrutable emotion in Lucas's eyes and hoped he'd struck a nerve. "Maybe you can help us."

It was really only a matter of time before Yuri's urgings provoked a response from the man behind them.

"Kid, don't be stupid. They're not on your side—that's the Commandant_. _One of the main people that was supposed to be splattered on the walls of the meeting room this morning. Might as well be Emperor, along with the Council. _Justice_." He snorted derisively.

"I think," said Flynn, "that you give me too much credit. And as you just came from the castle and have contacts there, I also suspect that you know very well that the rank of Commandant is no longer mine."

The man paled visibly and swallowed, but the hatred did not leave his face. Or at least, not until it was replaced by fear as the sound of metal boots climbing stairs drifted into the room. He looked around frantically, cursing as the tip of Flynn's sword pricked against his chest.

"That would be the knights, then. Otherwise known as your escort to a swift execution."

"Hey, Flynn—what about the kid?" Yuri glanced over at Lucas, who looked like he was about to be sick. Flynn considered him for a moment, frowning slightly.

"He may only be imprisoned if there is no proof that he is directly connected to the attacks."

"_Wait._" The boy's voice rang out, fearful but more certain than he had sounded since Flynn and Yuri had entered the room. He spoke quickly as the knights' voices could be heard, searching nearby rooms.

"He—Warren's not part of our cell. He's from Dahngrest. There's a big group there. The bombing was their mission. Some people say our leader, the one that no one gets to see, has a headquarters hidden somewhere in the city. I don't know, that's just what I heard. And I _hate_ him. Warren, I mean. I hate the Empire, too, but the killing is worse and I don't want to go to jail. Please don't make me go to jail."

Yuri hated when people begged; the boy's pleading made him seem rather pitiful and younger than his appearance suggested. But he also didn't like when the knights got their hands on people who didn't deserve it. Warren responded first, however, glaring at the boy murderously.

"_Dammit_, Lucas. There's a reason we don't let people under seventeen join up. I knew it was a mistake as soon as Cyrus showed up with your pathetic, tear-streaked face. 'Cumore and his men killed our parents, he has nowhere else to go,'" he said, voice rising in a falsetto, mocking pitch. "They should have put you in one of those carts, too, and let you rot in the desert with them."

He tried to lean around Flynn to spit on the boy, and grunted as the sword tip twisted a little harder into his skin. A knight who had apparently heard Warren's voice called out to the others that he had found "more of them." Repede must have made sure that the men who had jumped out the window didn't escape their punishment. Yuri caught Flynn's eye and nodded decisively.

"Dahngrest, then?"

"That would be the logical destination, yes."

Flynn shoved Warren toward the doorway, a cluster of armored men and women now visible just beyond it, and crossed to the window that had served as an exit for the other extremists. Yuri leaned out and couldn't see anything obvious to land on other than the paving stones two stories down, but remembered what he had heard. There would be some sort of hidden platform or ledge, but they would have to make the initial leap blind. He swung his legs out the window, avoiding the sharp remnants of broken panes.

"Here goes," said Yuri with a smirk. "Oh, and Lucas? You're coming with us."

* * *

A/N: Well, a little longer break between updates than usual—but also a longer chapter. This one gave me a little bit of trouble, because my brain decided that this scene needed _four_ new characters so I had to work out their personalities and how they interacted with each other. Once Flynn and Yuri appeared, the process went along a lot more quickly.

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, favorited and added _Glass Fortress_ to story alerts so far! It is all greatly appreciated. I try to respond to as many reviews as I can, so feel free to write back in a private message if you have anything else to say, questions, whatever. *smiles* Hope you continue to enjoy the story.


	8. Venture

**8. Venture**

The wild boar had wandered from its territory; Flynn had never seen one this far north of the Southern Mayoccia Plains. After an overnight stay at the inn, they had only been traveling for a few hours when it charged out of a nearby clump of trees, bellowing fiercely. Without speaking about it beforehand, Flynn and Yuri immediately split off, circling the beast as it stamped its feet and rolled its eyes at them. They shrugged out of their heavy fur coats, let them fall to the frozen ground and reached for their swords. Repede surged forward as well, nipping at the creature's heels and directing it toward its attackers. On the perimeter of the encounter, Lucas paced and scowled. He didn't have a weapon, the product of a particularly tiring argument outside the room the night before—this one about caution and common sense versus trust and expediency. Yuri had finally conceded that he didn't want to be forced to defend himself against the kid, and that was that.

Flynn fell into the familiar pace of slash and block, dodge and press forward. It was a pattern that he had disciplined himself in since childhood, especially since he had joined the knights, yet lately it felt different. Like he was missing a body part, could almost feel it phantom-like just outside himself. His artes. Without the bohdi blastia, fighting became based solely on physical strength and skill. To his eye, Yuri didn't seem affected by it. Even without the signature golden band around his wrist, the dark-haired man spun into attacks and danced away from the creature with grace and precision. He made it seem effortless.

"Hey, Flynn. You'd better keep up, man. I'll take this guy down myself." Yuri passed by him, flashing an exultant grin. There was one thing Flynn knew for sure: his friend _loved_ everything about fighting. His dark eyes practically shone with excitement, smiling fiendishly as he swept his sword into the boar's tough hide. He sprinted away as the beast roared, doubled back and swung the blade in an arc. And his enthusiasm was contagious.

"Oh, I don't think so," Flynn called back, closing on the boar with his sword arm extended behind him. He made his own cuts, deep and exact, but he couldn't help feeling that his own attacks lacked the finesse and sheer _style_ of Yuri's. It wasn't that he thought himself an inferior fighter—in their own sparring matches, he almost always had the upper hand. But Yuri flowed from stance to stance, hair streaming behind him and catching purplish highlights in the sun. Only he could make such violence look like art.

Yuri caught Flynn's eye, quirking a brow at him pointedly, and he spun away, putting the boar between them and concentrating on his next attack rather than the heat threatening to rise into his cheeks. He had accused his friend of watching him fight once, just before the founding of Aurnion, mainly to cover his own distraction during a battle where so much was at stake—and had still ended up flustered. Now, as then, Flynn chided himself for being so transparent. It was just that when they were fighting with swords rather than words, their banter flowed the most freely; they seemed more in tune with each other, for once not at odds. But he shouldn't let Yuri's teasing make him lose his focus, hear impossible flirtation in his sarcastic words.

Flynn banished these thoughts, precisely the kind that shouldn't be distracting him from taking out the angry boar. It was right in front of him, tusks flecked with foam. Yuri's sword flashed behind the beast, piercing its flank, and it reared up on its hind legs. Flynn was seized with panic as jagged hooves pawed the air above him. He dropped to the ground and rolled to the left, sucked in a breath as the edge of a hoof ripped the sleeve of his shirt and gashed his shoulder. Fighting the intense burning sensation that bloomed on his skin, Flynn twisted his arm and drove his sword up into the boar's belly. Yuri slashed the creature's neck as it fell, shrieking and snorting, almost toppling over onto Flynn as he backed away crab-like. Pain shot through his arm and he gritted his teeth against it.

When the boar lay still at last, Yuri walked over, smiling triumphantly.

"Looks like I had the killing blow. Better luck next time."

"Yuri, I think he was already dying when you—rrgh." He inhaled sharply through his teeth, and Yuri's expression instantly became a concerned one.

"Hey, are you injured?" He crouched down and noted the torn skin across Flynn's shoulder. "Doesn't look too serious. Come on."

Yuri extended his hand and pulled Flynn up by his other arm. After handing him a gel from the pouch at his waist, Yuri led him to a fallen tree trunk and sat beside him, legs straddling the makeshift seat so he could have a better angle for inspecting the wound. As they settled there, Lucas ran up.

"Good job with that thing. Uh, is he okay?"

"Yeah, he'll be alright. But you can help by going down to that stream over there and bringing back some water. There should be a container that'll work in one of the bags."

Lucas went off immediately to carry out the task, apparently not bothered by the fact that he was being given orders by someone he barely knew. Repede followed, keeping an eye on him. Yuri turned back to the gash and plucked at the material around it.

"If this is going to be properly tended to, the shirt's gotta go. It's history, anyway." He indicated the long tear along the right sleeve, and Flynn could feel it sticking to his back where blood seeped out of the wound. He could also feel, as the adrenaline of battle faded, the chilling wind cut through the thin material. Even though spring swiftly approached, it was far from a warm day.

Flynn unbuttoned and removed the shirt, wincing as the fabric pulled away from the cut. By the time that this somewhat slow process was completed, Lucas returned with a cup of stream water.

"Is this enough?"

"Perfect." Yuri picked up the discarded shirt and unceremoniously ripped the damaged sleeve off. Flynn blinked at his friend as he balled the fabric in his fist, dipped it in the water and pressed it against his back. The water was _very_ cold. Flynn jumped a little when it made contact, prompting a chuckle from Yuri.

Lucas was sent to retrieve something from the bags once more, returning with a bandage and a small pot of dark herbal ointment that didn't exactly smell like flowers but would prevent infection and clot the bleeding. Although it stung where it entered the cut, the ointment was oddly soothing as Yuri gently applied it to Flynn's shoulder. By the time the cut was dressed and the gel started taking effect, it hardly hurt anymore.

Yuri pressed on the edges of the bandage and murmured something, almost under his breath.

"What was that? I'm afraid that my hearing still isn't at its best after the explosion."

"…nothing."

Flynn fixed him with a steady, expectant look. There was no way he was letting his friend get away with that kind of avoidance. Yuri exhaled, eyes rolling up to stare at the trees above them.

"Alright, alright. I _said_ that this is my fault. We're usually more coordinated than that. When I struck the boar from behind, I should have known where you were. It was sloppy. So, yeah. I'm sorry."

Flynn was too amazed to respond, and apparently it showed.

"Hey, stop looking at me like that. I apologize sometimes." Hand planted on his hip, Yuri somehow managed to look indignant and guilty at the same time, which only prompted outright laughter from the blond.

"What?"

"Nothing." Flynn smiled mysteriously.

"Ha. Guess I deserved that one." Yuri stood, clapping Flynn briefly on his uninjured shoulder. As the cool fingers rested on his skin for a fraction of a second, it finally occurred to Flynn to be self-conscious. He had been focusing on the pain, but now he thought about how many layers of metal and cloth had separated him from the world—and from touch—over the past few years. Even his hands had become accustomed to being encased in gauntlets half the time. He didn't regret it, really, or even mind all that much. It was his duty, his chosen path. If he were still Commandant, he'd be wearing that armor now without displaying so much as a hint of discomfort.

But he wasn't. He was on the edge of a forest with Yuri, stripped to the waist in the middle of a cold day in late winter. Looking at his arms, he saw pale hairs raised into goosebumps. It was enough to make him start laughing again, but for entirely different reasons.

"Ready to head back?" Yuri smirked down at him. "I hope you brought another shirt."

* * *

Much later, growling stomachs and a swiftly setting sun brought the travelers to a halt for the evening. Earlier in the day Yuri had called Ba'ul, but as the day progressed it became clear that any response from the Entelexeia would not be immediate. They would need shelter, so Flynn had volunteered for the task of setting up camp—a logical choice, since he had the most experience quickly assembling tents and starting campfires as a knight—while Yuri ran off to teach Lucas how to fish.

The dark-haired man had been baffled when the youth admitted to never having seen it done, let alone learning the skill himself. "There aren't many lakes and rivers in the Sands of Kogorh," Flynn had said dryly. So Yuri had gathered up the necessary gear—a collapsible fishing rod, a spool of line, hooks—and set off with Lucas down to the stream.

Flynn watched them as he raised the tent poles, unable to make out many of their words as Yuri showed the steps of the process to the boy. He _could_ hear him curse as the line unraveled before he could attach it to the rod, forcing him to set to work pulling knots out of the thin filament with slender fingers. Naturally, Lucas found this hilarious.

"Hey, don't laugh," said Yuri, voice loud enough to carry from the water.

The man really couldn't help himself. As he observed the pair interacting, Flynn saw different faces: Ted, the small Lower Quarter boy he had looked out for, wishing him to avoid the trials of his own impoverished childhood; Karol, the spiky-haired, earnest youth who believed in himself because Yuri did first. He would deny it, of course, but Yuri was really good with kids. There was something about them that seemed to resonate with him. In fact, it was a quality that would probably make him a great father one day.

The thought casually flitted through Flynn's mind and stopped him in his tracks. It was undeniably _true_, but the images and emotions that rushed in along with it were far from objective. He struggled to focus on the task of constructing their campfire, but the sticks and bits of brush kept toppling over as if he had never done it before.

For as long as they had known each other, being around Yuri shouldn't have been affecting him this much. He was forced to admit, though, that not since around the time that they had both joined the knights had he spent this much time essentially alone with him. Their falling out after Yuri's departure from the Empire's service, combined with his own focus on his career and duties, caused fairly large gaps in their one-on-one time. Caught up in their diverging responsibilities, it had been easy to push inconvenient feelings into the corner, to be dealt with later or not at all. Lately, though, it was becoming far more difficult.

"Flynn?"

The blond turned to find Lucas standing a few feet away, blue-scaled fish dangling from both hands. He smiled, waving him closer, and the youth walked over to the fire. It wasn't Flynn's best work, but at least it would be serviceable.

"Very nice," he said appreciatively. "Did you catch these?"

"Yeah, this one." The teen lifted his right hand. He looked _happy_, like a burden had been lifted from his shoulders. It made Flynn wonder just how right Yuri might be in his assessment that he wasn't the extremist type. Still, it never hurt to be cautious. One could never know what sorts of things Lucas may have been brainwashed into, even in the relatively short time that he had been with them.

After being directed to place the fish in a pan that Flynn retrieved from one of the bags, Lucas quickly returned to the stream, where Yuri was casting the line once more. Gold and orange light rippled in the water, outlining their figures and throwing long shadows on the banks. Flynn turned his attention to getting the fire going, coaxing the pile of brush until it produced a flame. He sat cross-legged, watching it spread as the wood crackled and snapped.

The sun had dipped below the distant hills when Yuri and Lucas returned to camp. The youth had delivered more of their catch throughout the evening and three of the fish, cleaned and cooked to crisp, flaky perfection, rested on the thin metal plates that had been included in their gear. Lucas declared that he was starving and dove right in, but Yuri held his plate in one hand, staring at the fish suspiciously.

"Did you season this?"

"Of course."

Wordlessly, his friend set the plate down and selected one of the cleaned but uncooked fish. He placed it in the pan and held it over the flames.

"Wow, Yuri," said Lucas around a bite of fish. "That's cold."

"Yeah, well. You don't know—wait a minute." He shot a look over at the teen. "You can actually _eat_ that?"

Flynn sighed, taking a bite of his own food. This was nothing new, either. When they were younger and spent most of their time together, Yuri had insisted on doing the cooking whenever they had an opportunity to do so. He never outright said to Flynn's face that his food was _bad_; he just wouldn't eat it after a few, early experiences that had apparently been unpleasant.

"It tastes normal to me." Lucas took another bite. "Pretty good."

"Thank you," said Flynn, nodding at Yuri as if to say '_so there_.' His friend just shook his head as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"But isn't it too—I don't know. Salty?"

The boy seemed to consider it for a moment. "Not really. In the desert, we have to salt and cure our food to preserve it from the heat. So, most of our meat tastes a lot like this. I'm used to it." He finished his explanation with a shrug, continuing to eat the fish. The corners of Flynn's mouth slowly curved up into a smile, and Yuri rolled his eyes.

"You shouldn't let this go to your head. Just because this kid's culture eats an obscene amount of salt doesn't make it any less…heh, nevermind." He let whatever he had been about to say trail off, and Flynn couldn't help deflating a little. He certainly wished he could manage to prepare something that Yuri would eat—he'd even take "palatable" before he worried about enjoyment.

"Um, Flynn." Lucas, who was sitting next to him, whispered in his ear.

"Hm?"

"Have you ever thought about asking Yuri to show you how to cook? You know, he's actually a pretty good teacher." He grinned, pointing at the fish with his fork.

Flynn blinked at him, somehow surprised at the suggestion. To be honest, he'd long convinced himself that his cooking skill was fine; he'd even accepted an invitation to take part in the last Fortune's Banquet cooking battle. And was defeated quite soundly. He'd more than lost, actually—he had managed to both insult and disgust the judges, and finally had to admit to himself that it was probably more than just a matter of personal taste.

"Maybe I will," he said, watching as Yuri twisted his wrist to flip the fish over and cook the other side. Flynn wasn't normally one to admit weakness, but in this case it might be worth swallowing a little pride. They sat in silence for a while, Repede moving from the spot where he had been curled up sleeping by the fire to keep watch at the edge of their campsite. Lucas set his plate down, drawing his knees up to his chest and looking up at the darkened sky.

"Are you really okay traveling with us?" Flynn found himself asking.

"Well," said the youth after a moment, "I wouldn't be safe in the city right now, would I? With Leon and Marten arrested, I'd have had to go back to the cell headquarters by myself, and what if it got back to them that I reported on Dahngrest, their involvement in the attack?"

He shook his head.

"No, I had to leave. My brother will find me, or I'll find him. But I didn't want to be there anymore. Not even if I _do_ hate the Empire—sorry." He glanced over at Flynn, who could only smile.

"Believe me, I am aware of the system's shortcomings. More than ever, in fact."

"Hey," said Yuri, walking over with his plate of more moderately seasoned fish. "What kind of secrets are you telling over here?"

The trio settled into easy conversation that lasted late into the night, until the fatigue of battle and a day of traveling caught up with them. Stretched out on his pallet, Flynn could see Yuri's sleeping form out of the corner of his eye, shadows from the dying fire flickering over his face. Oddly contented despite the chaos of the last few days, the blond closed his eyes, and woke to the sound of a blade scraping against its scabbard.

* * *

A/N: "Flynn's a terrible cook" is a theme that gets used pretty often in ToV fanfic, so I figured it was time that the poor guy got some appreciation. Haha.

Oh, by the way. Got some semi-bad news. On Thursday, I'm going on vacation for two weeks. This might be the last update before I return. Can't promise either way, because I don't know what my schedule or internet access will be like. But let's just assume I won't be able to. I will, however, probably write down lines and/or scenes that occur to me, because this story isn't far from my mind lately and I'm sure things will pop into my head. So until then, just keep being your awesome selves and look forward to chapters when I come back! :D


	9. Cornered

**9. Cornered**

Yuri was on his feet, sword drawn, moments after the crunch of frozen grass outside their tent had pulled him abruptly into wakefulness. He worked muscles made stiff by a night spent on the thin travel pallet, eyes adjusting to the gray light of early morning that seeped through the walls of the enclosure, accompanying a misty chill in the air. The footsteps sounded closer.

Nearby, Flynn had awoken as well and rolled over, reaching for his own blade. He rose and stood next to Yuri, who failed to suppress a snort of amusement as he noted the familiar way that some of the feathery layers of Flynn's blond hair stuck up in the back and around his ears. His friend caught the look and scowled, running his free hand over the rebellious strands in an attempt to tame them. Without a mirror, he only made it worse. On any other occasion Yuri would have teased him about it, but he settled for a fleeting smirk before returning his focus to the situation.

"Stay down," he hissed over his shoulder, but Lucas was still wrapped in his blankets. It was easy to forget that not everyone slept so lightly, attuned to the slightest hint of danger as the two men were.

An indistinct form cast its shadow on the tent's dark green fabric. Yuri thrust his left arm forward as the tent flap was pulled back, placing the tip of the sword directly in the way of any who would enter.

"Oh, my. How scary." The Krityan's hand flew to her chest in a gesture of terror, but she was smiling.

Yuri exhaled, letting his arm fall and relax. "Judy."

"Expecting someone else?" Her tone, as usual, was light and playful.

The dark-haired man shook his head, returning the smile. "Not at all. I think we're just on edge right now." He made a vague gesture that was somehow meant to sum up the past few days, then sighed when he realized that Judy had no idea what he was talking about.

"I see." Her eyes slid past Yuri and rested first on Flynn, then Lucas—who had finally lifted his head and was staring at the trio blearily. "Picked up more strays, have you?"

Flynn opened his mouth as if he were about to object to that description, but was cut off by a sharp bark from Repede. The dog, apparently following Judy, slunk around her and into the tent.

"Maybe we need to go over what being on watch means," said Yuri, placing a hand on his hip. Repede flicked an ear back, body language clearly communicating that it was foolish to expect him to warn Yuri about their friend's arrival—couldn't he _smell_ her?

A little while later, Yuri was cooking breakfast and filling Judy in on everything that had happened in his short visit. Flynn and Lucas packed away the tent and other supplies before joining them for what ended up being a fairly spartan meal: eggs, some bread and butter, boiled stream water. Even so, Lucas exclaimed over how good it tasted—but what was with that oddly conspiratory look he shot over at Flynn, and the slight nod he received in return?

Judy remained fairly quiet through the explanation, but those who knew her would register surprise and deep concern in her demeanor. She went very still as Flynn provided first-hand details about the meeting room explosion, and sorrow filled her eyes as Yuri spoke of Noran's decree. Without making a conscious decision to do so, he glossed over Flynn's reaction to the news, and saw the tension drain from the other man's face. It hurt, a little, that his friend would even worry that he'd tell anyone about that. It wasn't like he was _that_ unpredictable. Not when it mattered, anyway.

As they recounted their infiltration into the extremist meeting place, Lucas squirmed a bit, but Yuri was quick to emphasize the vital information that the youth had provided. The teen had another reason to squirm, though, as the Krityan regarded him with great interest.

"He could be very useful," she mused. The statement was so quiet that it seemed to be more to herself than anyone else. "So. We have the extremists to deal with, as well."

"Yeah, as if guild business isn't bad enough on its own," said Yuri, shaking his head. "How's our Cap'n doing, anyway?"

Judy's lips curved upward. "The same."

"That bad, huh? Man. I tried to tell him I was leaving, but he was running around HQ like some kind of…"

"Recently decapitated avian?"

Yuri laughed at the all-too-appropriate image. "Exactly. Couldn't get him to slow down long enough to listen."

Judy set her empty plate on the ground and rose to her feet. She brought a hand up to her face and nodded after a moment.

"Okay, we'll be ready." She didn't have to say it out loud, Yuri knew—it was purely for their benefit, those not fortunate enough to be born with the ability to speak telepathically with the Entelexeia. In the distance, he could hear Ba'ul's warbling cry as he flew toward them, a multi-colored blur streaking through the sky.

"What," said Lucas, "is _that_?" And Yuri wondered where he should begin.

* * *

As he leaned against the ship's railing, Yuri thought that there really was nothing like flying. He closed his eyes and let the refreshing sensation wash over him. The wind whipped his hair in every direction, faintly carrying a salty tang from the ocean far below. Ba'ul threw a kind of half-shade on the deck, making it even colder to stand there, but Yuri vastly preferred it to traveling in the cramped quarters in the belly of the ship. When he had last seen them, Flynn and Judy had been about to start a friendly card game—the Krityan casually suggested they play for gald, but a quick shake of Yuri's head over her shoulder had been sufficient warning for Flynn to become skeptical of her modest claims of skill.

At the ship's bow, Repede had apparently taken a liking to Lucas, allowing the boy to sit next to him companionably and carry on one of those not entirely one-sided conversations that Yuri often had with the canine. Though he'd known Repede since he was a pup, it remained a mystery to him as to which individuals he'd deign to acknowledge, and which he would shun. Like Estelle, for example. Despite her best efforts, the princess still failed to connect with him. Sometimes Yuri suspected that Repede found it amusing to thwart her enthusiastic attempts to become his friend. He also suspected that the warrior dog was actually very fond of her. It was, after all, nearly impossible not to be.

From where he stood, Yuri could hear but not see the door creak open. Flynn emerged from below, walking a little unsteadily toward the railing at the stern. Though from this distance he couldn't be sure, Yuri thought his friend looked a little nauseated. In his travels as a knight, he had probably become accustomed to the rhythmic sway of a ship on water, but the way that Ba'ul moved was different—rising and falling sinuously, like the whale he resembled. It couldn't be helpful that the boat swung wildly whenever the Entelexeia changed direction.

Flynn folded his arms atop the rail, eyes fixed on some point on the horizon. He was looking southeast, toward Zaphias, Yuri realized. Maybe the miserable expression on his face wasn't just nausea, then. The wind mussed Flynn's hair, rippled the fabric of his button-down shirt—like the one that had been torn while fighting the boar, but a different color, maybe. It wasn't like Yuri was keeping track of these things. He sighed, then stiffened when he realized that Judy had somehow materialized next to him while he wasn't paying attention.

"Still persisting in your little game of self-denial, I see."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Hmm. I'm sure," she said breezily, bracing her arms and leaning out a bit over the railing.

Considering the season, more skin was covered than was typical with the Krityan woman, but a significant amount of cleavage still lay bare above the scooping neck of her garment. Yuri noted it, could appreciate it on some level, but his gaze slid away after a fraction of a second without thinking much more about it. He and Judy weren't like that, despite the flirtatious banter they easily slipped into from time to time.

"Estelle is doing well, then?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah." He paused, then shook his head, chuckling. "She seems really happy. I guess she met this guy, and—"

"Ooh, that must be the boyfriend she was telling me about. Tor? He sounds cute."

Yuri just looked at her, incredulous. "Am I seriously the last person to know about this?"

Laughter bubbled from Judy's throat, light and musical, and she patted Yuri's hand consolingly. "Don't take it too hard, now. At least she did tell you."

"But she didn't," he muttered, frowning a bit. Judy tilted her head curiously, but didn't press any further. Instead, she turned toward the back of the boat again. Flynn was still standing there looking, if anything, more despondent than before.

"It's really too bad," she said, softly. "This must be hard on him." Yuri made a vague sound of agreement, shifting uncomfortably when she didn't speak again. Instead, she just kept staring at him, then at Flynn, as if expecting something.

"What?" The word snapped more than he'd intended.

"I see," said Judy. "I wonder, though, if you do." She slid away from the railing, and shortly after Yuri heard the door click shut. He turned, stared down into the deep blue water, annoyed not with her, but himself.

* * *

Winter didn't mean much in the tropical region where Dahngrest was located. It was a little less muggy, the air not quite as heavy, but still warm enough to make coats and gloves unnecessary. As usual, billowing clouds darkened the sky, threatening a downpour at any second. Having left Ba'ul outside of town, the group walked across the long bridge that entered the bustling city.

Though at Brave Vesperia's founding they had agreed that there was no reason the guild must be located in Dahngrest, the convenience of being in the same city as most of the older, more established guilds was too attractive to pass up. However, Yuri wasn't convinced that they would ever move their headquarters elsewhere without a very compelling reason to do so. The truth was that both Karol and Raven loved the city that they considered their hometown, and Yuri had to admit a growing attachment to it himself. The combination of rough edges and vibrant spirit reminded him a little of the Lower Quarter where he had grown up, and the most interesting sorts of people seemed to gravitate there.

As soon as they approached the intersection that led to guild headquarters, it became clear that something was wrong. Men and women dressed in a variety of armor bunched together in a rough circle, shouting and jostling each other. Some brandished weapons, many others only clutching at sheathed swords and axes—this was a conflict that could easily turn violent. Yuri immediately shouldered into the crowd, with Judy not far behind him. A voice rose above the others, tinged with desperation as it attempted to reason with the masses.

"C'mon, don't be like this. Harry's doin' the best he can—it's just for the time being. Over before ya know it. Won't even notice 'em, I promise."

"Like hell we won't!" A gruff voice blasted at Yuri's left, and murmurs of angry agreement rippled around him. "Whitehorse's got to be rolling in his grave right now with what you're suggesting. _Cooperation_. Bah!" He had more than a few choice words to describe how he felt about the Empire, during which Yuri and Judy slipped past the last few people into the inner circle. In the center of it all, Raven grimaced out at all the people set against him, arms crossed. He brightened noticeably, though, when he spotted the pair making their way toward him.

"Judith, darlin'. You're a welcome sight for this old man's eyes. Ya gotta help me out here."

"Oh? You seem to be handling it alright." Characteristically unperturbed, she clasped her arms behind her back and smiled at him without guile.

"Are you kidding me? They're about ta eat me alive." He scrubbed at the back of his head in a nervous gesture. It did seem that the aggressors surged forward a little more than they had before. "And Yuri, why're you back already?"

"Well," he started, but Flynn had appeared by his side and Raven seemed about to jump out of his skin.

"What'dja bring him along for?" he moaned, adding "not in his armor, at least" under his breath.

"Isn't that what you wanted? Anyway, I didn't exactly plan it like this. It's kind of a long story." Raven gave him an impatient, panicked look that implied something like 'save it for when we don't have a horde of angry, armed guild members breathing down our necks.' He shrugged, and the former knight captain returned to his attempts at mediation—with Judy jumping in as well, despite what she had said.

"What's going on, Yuri." Flynn narrowed his eyes, apparently not pleased with this display of unrest. It wasn't the way the conversation was supposed to happen, but Yuri steeled himself for it anyway.

"Yeah, I meant to tell you. Remember, in the castle, when I asked if you wanted to know what I was doing there? This is it." His hand swept to take in the situation.

"I don't understand."

"I was supposed to be asking for your help, Flynn. As Commandant. With so many of the guild members helping to protect the other cities now that the barriers are gone, we've spread ourselves too thin. Harry thought that we could get some knights to help out, to fill our numbers a bit."

Flynn's eyebrows shot up.

"Yeah, I know. The guilds tend to go out of their way to avoid entanglement with the Empire. Especially within the city itself. So Harry tried to emphasize that the knights would be placed outside the walls, but there's been a lot of concern that once there's a foothold here..." Yuri trailed off, thinking of Noran and others like him on the Council. His friend nodded.

"That makes sense. I'm to understand they sent you because of your personal connection to me, then."

"Something like that. Were they wrong?"

Flynn seemed to consider for a moment, then shook his head.

"No. Besides, it is in the Empire's interest that Dahngrest not be overrun. Power struggles aside, I would have authorized it." His brow furrowed, and Yuri knew what he was probably thinking about. "Sodia would, too," he added, a bit reluctantly.

Yuri wasn't sure what had been said to defuse the situation, if anything specific had done it at all, but the crowd began to dissipate until the last few individuals drifted away, muttering to themselves and throwing dirty looks over their shoulders. After speaking quietly with Judy for a moment, Raven strode over to the two men, looking both mentally and physically exhausted. How long had he been holding that mob back, anyway?

"We should get back ta headquarters," he said. "I've got this funny feelin' you've got somethin' to tell me, and I'm not gonna like it."

* * *

A/N: Well, as you can see, I'm back! Sorry for the extra week's delay; the day before my return flight, I started coming down with a cold. By the time I got home, I was feeling awful and was completely out of commission for a while. Anyway, my vacation was fun, but I'll admit it was frustrating to see my story keep slipping down the page and not be able to do anything about it. Haha. Hope you enjoy the chapter.

(Sorry there aren't a lot of Yuri & Flynn moments in this one, some people have mentioned wanting more of that, but they are definitely on their way very soon. Have to balance the plot with the relationship development, and all. Even this chapter has hints of it—they're just flickers instead of flashing neon signs. :) )


	10. Spirits

**10. Spirits**

A blade of grass spun between Flynn's fingers as he lay on his back, shirtsleeves pushed to his elbows in a place that felt more like the early summer of just about any other city. He had left Yuri and Judith to inform the rest of their guild of all that had occurred, but there was really no reason for him to be there. For the moment, he did not _want_ to be there. And so Flynn had started walking, ducking his head to avoid recognition, until he found a small park—an oasis of green among all the stone and metal. Stretching out on the cool grass, he resolved to think of nothing.

This should have been easy. After all, he could relax now, couldn't he? No one was making any demands on his time. For once, no tasks following each other until they blurred together, the days long and indistinguishable. He could close his eyes and focus on nothing more than the way the warm sunlight fell in patches through the clouds, how the air smelled like rain and damp soil.

It was only after the pieces dropped onto his chest that Flynn realized he had been tearing the grass—and, apparently, several leaves—to shreds. He stilled his fingers, brushed the mess off absently. Some children ran by and their laughter sounded louder than it should, jarring somehow. The scene took on a macabre tone in Flynn's mind as dark thoughts clashed with the cheerful atmosphere. Pitiful, really—the amount of time it had taken to break his promise to himself. He was stronger than this.

Abandoning restful solitude as a lost cause, Flynn pulled himself to his feet and began walking down the path that led out of the park. He was nearly to the entrance when his shoulder collided with something solid, staggering him back a step. The next moment was a flurry of apologies, until the young woman he had carelessly stumbled into interrupted him.

"I know who you are!" She shook a finger at him, sounding almost triumphant.

"I'm sorry, I do not believe we've met—"

"Don't be coy. The Imperial Commandant, alone—out of armor, even. Ha! I can't _believe_ my luck." Her shoulders shook with laughter, but intense brown eyes glared into his. "Well, then. This is for everyone who suffered while your precious little Empire sat back and watched."

Flynn blinked as she dipped a hand toward her belt to retrieve a jagged-edged knife. Working through his options, he silently cursed himself for letting his guard down, for letting his mind become so distracted. It would be best if he could convince her to refrain from violence, of course. Barring that, he could pull his sword—Flynn thought he had time, judging the distance between them. Perhaps he could distract her, and then…

A blur of motion from behind a tree halted his thoughts. Fingers closed around the woman's wrist, pulling her hand up and twisting it around until the knife clattered on the stone-paved walkway. She cried out, struggling, but the hand—Yuri's hand—only tightened its grip.

"What do you think this is going to accomplish? Flynn isn't your enemy."

"I'll scream and say you attacked me," she said, twisting in his arms.

Yuri didn't respond to her threat; he did not need to. Even the woman would have to know that no one in Dahngrest would believe that story. He pushed her away, kicking the knife down the path so that she would have to scramble to pick it up.

"Disgusting," Yuri spat, voice cold and authoritative. "Get out of my sight, Anya."

As soon as she had scooped up her knife and returned it to its sheath, the woman fled from the park without looking back.

"Harry's gonna hear about that one," he said grimly, watching her hasty retreat. "It's not the first time we've had problems with her. You alright?"

Flynn nodded, grateful but also somewhat embarrassed that Yuri had felt he needed to come to his rescue. With a little more time, he was certain he could have accomplished a similar effect—if without the added leverage of apparently knowing the girl.

"Thanks, Yuri. I'm fine. Besides, it's not as if some woman could just walk up and stab me."

Yuri looked at him sideways, then shook his head.

"Yeah, well…you might be surprised."

"What is that supposed to—"

Turning to face his friend, Yuri's expression brightened.

"Hey, Flynn. Want to get a drink?"

Somehow, Flynn didn't feel like complaining that the man had changed the subject on him once again.

* * *

Yuri stood at the bar, lifting fingers to indicate 'two' and sliding gald across the counter. The lean lines of his body were slightly obscured as his dark clothing blended with the shadows of the smoky, dimly lit room. Flynn tore his eyes away from him, instead examining the piano beside their table; he had always wanted to learn how to play, but had never had time. He plinked a key experimentally, flinching a little when it was louder than he expected. No one seemed to have noticed, though, deep as they were in their boisterous, drunken revelry.

When he looked up again, Yuri was weaving through the tables, a mug in each hand. He set Flynn's in front of him before settling into his chair, one corner of his mouth quirked into a smile.

"To the Crimson Stars," he said, raising his own drink. "A _real_ tavern, none of that waiting tables crap like at the Sagittarius. That place is more like a restaurant that also has a bar in it."

Flynn shook his head, amused. "Are you still bitter about that?" He had heard how Yuri and his friends had been pressed into service at the tavern on the other end of the street. While none of them had been forced to help out, Yuri's friends had enthusiastically volunteered and pestered him when he opted to sit it out.

"I'm not a damn waiter," he muttered, lifting his mug to his lips. Flynn chuckled. Sitting across from his friend like this felt incredibly normal and comfortable—he had wished for it countless times while mired in his duties. At the time it had seemed a distant fantasy, especially when things had been so tense between them.

"Flynn?"

He looked up from where he had been gazing out-of-focus into the amber liquid. Yuri was watching him carefully, one brow slightly lifted.

"What's on your mind?" he asked, crossing his arms on the table.

Flynn took a breath. There were too many things he couldn't even begin to tell him about. But Yuri was reaching out and he deserved some honesty, if only for trying.

"I've been having these dreams. Dreams where I'm still Commandant." He frowned, gripping the mug tightly. "It doesn't _feel_ right that I'm not, Yuri. I keep thinking that I should be reporting somewhere, doing something."

Flynn exhaled, frustrated. "Perhaps I was overconfident. Rising so quickly and accomplishing as much as I have in twenty-two years, becoming one of the youngest Commandants in the Empire's history. How foolish of me to think that I could hold on to that."

"Twenty-two," Yuri muttered. "Huh, that's right. I guess that means I missed your birthday."

Flynn blinked at him, wavering between feeling touched that Yuri had even thought of that—it had been years since they had celebrated it together, after all—and wondering if the man was really listening.

"I just never would have thought that the influence I have worked for since childhood could be so…fragile," he finished.

Yuri leaned into his chair, hooking an elbow casually over the back.

"You know I think you work too hard, Flynn." He smirked. "But that's why it's you in that ridiculous armor, and not me. These things have their way of working themselves out—Noran's an idiot, and you sure as hell earned that rank. It's an obstacle, yeah, but you're the great Flynn Scifo." He gestured in the air, as if that said it all.

Flynn smiled stiffly. He wanted to believe Yuri's words, especially when he was directing that lop-sided, lazy smile at him. But the fact that his friend was making an earnest attempt to drag him out of his depressed state was enough to lift his spirits at least a little.

"What shall we toast next?" Flynn lifted his mug, which was still mostly full.

"Hmm. How about to—woah, watch out," said Yuri, under his breath. Flynn whipped his head around just in time to see a woman sidling up to their table.

"Well, hey there, gorgeous," she purred. "You must be new here, because I know I'd recognize a face like yours." The woman settled on the corner of the table nearest Flynn and leaned forward as she spoke, putting her plunging neckline on full display. She was apparently either a bit out of touch on the who's who of the Empire or just inebriated enough not to recognize him.

Flynn blinked and looked away, hoping that ignoring the woman would be the most effective way of staving off her advances. Fortunately, it seemed to work—she withdrew quickly, a pout on her dark red lips as she sauntered back across the tavern. Yuri, once Flynn dared to look back at him, was wearing an expression of utter amusement.

"Flynn, my friend. That women all over the Empire fall over themselves for you is one of life's greatest ironies." He chuckled. Flynn ventured a smile, but his breath caught in his throat a little. This topic could easily move into dangerous territory, and he wasn't sure at this point if he trusted himself to be nonchalant.

Yuri shrugged, then. "Meh, but she wasn't that attractive. I'm sure the old man would've been all over that, though. I still don't know what women see in the guy."

"You didn't see him as Captain Schwann," said Flynn, before he could stop himself. "As hard as it may be to believe, he cleans up well."

Yuri, who had just taken a drink, coughed and sputtered. "I'm sorry. I thought that you just implied that_ Raven_ can be attractive."

"Schwann," he corrected.

"They're the same person!"

"Hm. If you say so," Flynn said, reaching for his own mug.

"Whatever. And I did see him like that, once. But I was a little distracted at the time." Yuri smiled wryly, shaking his head. "Man, I can't believe we're even discussing this."

"You started it, though."

"Ohh, no," he said, stabbing a finger across the table at Flynn. "You're the one who went and said things like 'you should see him as Captain Schwann.'" He broke into an attempt to imitate the cadence of Flynn's voice, which was rather hilarious in itself. "The old man is _not_ sexy. Not even a little bit."

"I never said sexy. Interesting."

"Just…shut up, Flynn." Yuri groaned, though he still seemed to be in a better humor than his words would suggest. "I'm gonna have nightmares now."

Looking at him, Flynn thought he could detect the slightest of flushes spreading across his cheeks. He had seen enough people destroy themselves with alcohol that he could never approve of outright drunkenness, but had to admit that slightly-tipsy Yuri was, well…kind of adorable. He bit his lip and moved to take another drink, partly to hide the kind of smile that his friend would ask questions about. Although the thoughts that had been troubling him certainly had not disappeared, Flynn couldn't help thinking: _this_ is how things ought to be.

* * *

A heavy knock on the door broke Judith's concentration—she had been poring over a request they had just received from a potential client. Brave Vesperia business could hardly stop, regardless of the news they received about the recent troubles in Zaphias. As the knocking became more insistent, she rose from the desk with a soft sigh. Karol got to the door before her.

"Is there something we can help you with?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly before he cleared his throat. Ah, youth. Peering over Karol's comparatively short stature, Judith took in the men standing at the entrance to their headquarters. She recognized them from the Union, as some of the members of highest standing in the master guilds. They did not look pleased.

"Where is the leader of this guild?" asked the man closest to the door, frowning deeply. "There are matters of great importance that we must discuss with them."

Judith clasped Karol's shoulders from where she stood behind him. "Why, you're talking to our boss already." The boy's bright smile was just a touch embarrassed, but he recovered quickly.

"There's Yuri, too," he said. "But he's out right now. Brave Vesperia Captain Karol Capel, at your service! What can I do for you, sir?" He straightened his shoulders, trying to pull himself up as tall as he could. The boy had gone through a small growth spurt in the last few months, but he was still far from imposing.

The man sneered down at Karol, relaxing a bit when one of the other Union members touched his arm and whispered something.

"Very well," he said. "Then both of you will accompany me to Union HQ. Harry is waiting for us there."

* * *

A/N: Apparently the theme of this chapter is "Flynn gets accosted by strange women." Pfft. Anyway, sorry that this took a while to post—I have been trying to get at least one chapter out per week, sometimes two, but things have been moving a bit slower lately. Just know that I am actively working on it. *smiles*


	11. Exchange

**11. Exchange**

_Off to Union HQ for an "important meeting." Karol and I have it covered. You boys have fun! -Judith_

Yuri held the slip of paper between his fingers, smiling as he passed it to Flynn. The blond scanned the note and then turned it around, pointing at the bottom with an incredulous expression.

"Is this…a sketch of her own face, winking?"

Yuri chuckled. "That's Judy for you. I guess we should go in."

The building that Brave Vesperia operated from was relatively quiet for the moment. They were between jobs as much of their time lately had been spent on the protecting-the-city conflict, so most of the members they had acquired in the past few months were elsewhere. It was still a pretty small guild; they wanted to keep it that way, but four official members had been simply too few to sustain a viable operation. Guilds, as Kaufman of Fortune's Market would be quick to point out, are ultimately a business, after all.

Flynn and Yuri made their way through rooms empty but for one person at the desk near the door. They found Lucas in the HQ's lounge area, sprawled out on the floor with Repede seated nearby. The boy rolled over when they approached, grinning.

"Hey, welcome back. Let me tell you, this dog can _run. _I chased him all over the place and I don't think he ever got tired."

"I can see that," said Flynn, picking up a book and setting it back on the pile from which it had toppled. Hand on his hip, Yuri regarded Repede with open amusement.

"Playing hard, eh, Repede?" The canine let out a low, dignified _woof_, looking off to the side as if he had nothing to do with any of this. Lucas laughed and reached out to scratch him behind the ears. Before his hand could make contact, Repede slid away from the youth, sitting down again several feet away. Lucas looked over at Yuri, who could only shake his head.

"It's okay, Luc. I think I just hurt his pride a little."

"Oh. Uh, wait. What did you just call me?" The teen's brow furrowed slightly, and Flynn sighed.

"He does that to everyone. It's a bad habit of his."

"Hm? What is?" Yuri smirked, pretending not to know what his friend was referring to and getting one of those patented looks of exasperation in return.

"Not everyone likes getting nicknames from people they barely know, Yuri."

"You just don't like yours," he countered.

Lucas was watching them with obvious curiosity. "What's his?"

Flynn exhaled, defeated. "Sometimes he calls me 'the great Flynn'—"

"That's not the one I'm talking about, and you know it," said Yuri.

At that, Flynn remained silent, his features suddenly gone very still. Lucas leapt to his feet, dark brown eyes darting between them.

"What is it?" he asked insistently.

"Yuri!"

Everyone turned at Karol's voice as he rushed into the room, skidding to a stop in front of the two men. He placed his hands on his knees and panted for a moment before straightening, eyes bright and excited.

"Both of you have got to come with me back to Union HQ. It's _really_ important."

"Woah. Slow down, boss," said Yuri. "What's this all about?"

Karol sucked in a breath, then let the words out in a rush.

"The guilds want to help Flynn get back his rank as Commandant!"

* * *

The stunned look on Flynn's face was one that Yuri wouldn't forget any time soon. The blond had worked his mouth, skin gone even paler than usual, but seemed to lack a coherent response to Karol's news. So they had followed the youth back down the streets that they had walked together just minutes before, nodding to the guard in front of the Union headquarters before they entered. Several paces ahead of them, Karol stepped up to the heavy double doors of the Don's Chamber and cracked one of them open. He nodded sharply after a moment, swinging it the rest of the way and ushering Flynn and Yuri in.

About twenty people turned their heads in unison as the two men stepped into the chamber. Yuri had been able to hear voices faintly through the doors, but now an unsettling silence had fallen over the meeting. Despite Karol's enthusiasm, few of the faces looked particularly cheerful—many, in fact, were downright hostile. Yuri kept a neutral expression, though his nerves were screaming for someone to say something, for something to _happen._ It didn't matter if it was good or bad.

At the end of the long chamber, Harry stepped forward. Abruptly, Yuri realized that the room's occupants were not making use of the mats and pillows that lined the walls. Everyone stood, most tensely, indicating the type of conversation not meant for leisure or comfort.

"You've come. Good." Harry's voice was becoming more confident each time Yuri heard him. He still had a long way to go to earn the full trust and respect of the guilds, though. "I realize this is unconventional, but I hope to benefit everyone with what we do here today."

There were some mutterings down the lines of people, some tossing unfriendly glances at Flynn, others at the Don's grandson. Harry held out his hand in an attempt to quell them, gaze moving around the room.

"Flynn Scifo," he said, "I want this to be as plainly spoken as possible. We in Dahngrest need _you_ to be Commandant."

Flynn's head jerked back a fraction in surprise, unable to prevent a frown from pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"Why?"

Harry smiled, a little. "And a plainly spoken response. Also good. The simple answer is that we're accustomed to you."

"The devil you know," Flynn said dryly.

"Yes, exactly. But it's also more than that. As newly promoted as you had been, it's my feeling—mine and others in the Union, though not all—" Here his mouth twisted, almost imperceptibly, "that in memory, you are one of the Commandants least dangerous to Dahngrest and her interests."

Flynn inclined his head, still clearly suspicious. But Yuri, who knew him better than anyone, could also see the spark of hope in his eyes.

"We don't want a Commandant that the Imperial Council can sway," Harry continued, standing in front of the Union flag with hands clasped behind his back. "Alexei was a problem, but he was also arrogant—he thought himself better than the Council, and moved according to his own ambitions. Someone that they can control could actually be far more dangerous."

Yuri suppressed a smirk. Harry was no fool, but those types of observations were unlikely to be his alone. He could see Raven's hand in this—he'd been instrumental in grooming the young man to become a worthy successor to his grandfather. The former knight captain might act like an idiot sometimes—okay, most of the time—but his political acumen was sharper than most people would guess.

"You see now what we need," said Harry, spreading his hands before him. "I imagine you're curious about how we intend to accomplish it. Obviously it's no simple matter, but we hope that our interests can align."

Flynn's eyes narrowed. The business language was beginning to come out—only natural, considering the source.

"I assume you have terms, then," he said. Harry nodded, slowly. "Name them."

"Alright, then. First, what benefits you. We hear that you are seeking the origin of attacks carried out within the Imperial capital. The influence and reach of the guilds are deep-rooted. There is information we possess that may well give you a significant edge into that search. Perhaps even manpower, guides. If it will help you regain your former status, we will do everything we can to aid you."

Yuri lifted an eyebrow at Flynn, who remained impassive. Regardless of what Harry and the Union wanted in exchange, they _needed_ this. Other than hints and rumors, Lucas didn't know any more than they did, and that was where their trail ran out.

"And in return?"

Harry shifted his weight to the other foot, the only visible sign of nervousness that Yuri had seen in him that afternoon. After a moment, he spoke again.

"A detachment of knights posted outside the city gates to help protect against attacks is the first thing, of course. There are some who trust you to keep the boundary clear between the Empire and the Union's interests. Many others do not. For a safeguard, the knights will have to be under the direct jurisdiction of the city for as long as they serve there. They'll receive orders from their captain, but the captain must answer to the Union's needs."

"What—" Flynn's eyes flashed angrily

"Please, let me continue. They would be there to protect the city, nothing more. This is to ease doubts, not to give us more influence over the knights."

Flynn's lips tightened into a grim line, but he nodded. "Go on."

"The opposition to this proposal is strong. While Dahngrest does not typically welcome Imperial involvement, there may be other things we need ask of you, should you be in your position of power once more. You must be willing to cooperate with us one additional time, as long as it does not endanger the wellbeing of the Empire's citizens. I believe that this is fair."

The blond's jaw clenched, and Yuri knew that look. His friend was _pissed_, and now was not the time for most of the Union's leaders to be on the receiving end of that mood. In the rare cases where he was truly riled, Flynn was not beyond saying things that he'd regret. They needed this deal to go well.

"Excuse us for a minute," muttered Yuri. Not waiting for Harry's assent, he grabbed Flynn's arm and pulled him out of the room, ignoring how undignified it probably made the blond man look.

* * *

They were halfway down the entrance hall when Flynn pulled them up short, cursing so loudly and vehemently that Yuri nearly jumped out of his skin. The word seemed to echo off the hall's high ceiling, lingering in the air like smoke. Yuri cleared his throat after a moment, noting that the handful of other people in the room had scurried past them with nervous expressions. Trust Flynn to scare the crap out of everyone when he decided to swear. The blond man's knuckles were white where he clenched them tightly, leaving crescent-shaped nail marks in his palms.

"This," he said, "is impossible." Flynn's voice was too controlled and cool, now. Yuri's hand was still gripping the blond man's upper arm, and he could feel muscle tense beneath it. He released him, watching him carefully.

"I can't do this," Flynn finally said, meeting his friend's gaze. "They ask for things I cannot give them."

"The way I see it," said Yuri, crossing his arms, "we don't have much of a choice. This is the Union, Flynn. They'd sooner spit in your face and feed you to the wolves."

"If it's so important to them, then why stoop to bribery? They're practically holding my position for ransom, Yuri. No better than the shadow organizations run by crime families in the capital. _Damn_ them." He spun away and paced at the head of the stairs, running a hand over the top of his head as he looked up at the ceiling.

"Okay. Do you have a better idea?"

"We negotiate."

Yuri laughed, shortly and humorlessly. "If I know Dahngrest, Harry's barely keeping the guys that hate your guts at bay. Say you won't do it, and you may never get an offer this good again."

"Good?" Flynn turned to face the dark-haired man again. "They scorn the Empire, and then expect me to hand them authority over Imperial soldiers. They're crazy if they think I will allow that."

"Flynn, listen to me. Right now you have _nothing._" The blond man's fingers twitched. "You're being given a better chance than you've had of getting it back, and I've got a feeling that things would be a lot uglier if the old man wasn't behind the scenes pulling strings for us."

Yuri was surprised by the raw anger in his friend's eyes. "And tell me, Yuri. Why should I trust them? Raven—wasn't he the one who betrayed you, delivering Princess Estellise into Alexei's hands?"

"And weren't you the one," said Yuri, voice low and even, "who stood by and allowed Alexei's ambitions to go unchallenged?"

Flynn's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. It was a low blow, Yuri knew, but these were desperate times. Appealing to the man's sense of guilt could be effective.

"I will not stand by and let the knights become pawns in this conflict. And I am not enough of a fool to make deals without knowing what it is that I am promising."

Yuri shrugged. "Fair enough. I wouldn't expect you to."

"Well—wait. You're agreeing with me?"

"Sure. You don't have to take the deal."

"No," said Flynn, firmly. "I don't."

"Okay, then." Yuri smiled, clapping Flynn on the shoulder. "That settles it."

Flynn lifted an eyebrow, but nodded. "Right. I suppose we had better go back in there."

They walked together back up to the doors, the sound of conversation beyond them even more chaotic than before. It stilled once again when they entered, as Flynn strode up to where Harry waited, with Yuri not far behind him. The Union leader looked at him expectantly.

Flynn opened his mouth to speak, but Yuri stepped forward.

"He accepts the Union's terms," he said, confidently and loud enough for all in the chamber to hear. He tried to ignore the look in his friend's blue eyes, stabbing into him as sharp as knives.

* * *

A/N: Oh, Yuri…Yay, I got a chapter up in a week, this time. :D


	12. Drown

**12. Drown**

For the moment, the only sound in Yuri's ears was the rain, hissing as it sheeted down from the dark gray clouds that hung over the city. It must have started while they were in the meeting, before the Union leaders had slowly filtered out of the building and Harry had taken Flynn aside to finalize their deal. The ceilings were too high and insulated to hear the drumming of raindrops unless you were listening for them.

While he stood at the top of the steps, wondering if he should just make a run for it, the door opened behind him. Judy blinked at the downpour for a moment and made a small, thoughtful noise.

"Are you okay with this?" she asked, not quite in a whisper but softly, barely rising above the rain.

Yuri shook his head wryly, not looking at the Krityan woman. "I guess I kind of have to be."

He didn't feel like facing the cool, knowing gaze that would be turned on him, filled with questions that even Yuri didn't think he had the answer to at this point. If Judy had been about to say anything else, it was interrupted by Karol's appearance as he also exited the building. He grinned when he caught the dark-haired man's eye.

"That was amazing, Yuri! Now you'll find the extremists, for sure."

Karol may have missed what had happened behind the scenes at the Union meeting, but his youthful enthusiasm served as a welcome distraction from that mess. Yuri smiled down at him.

"Heh. Definitely. You're gonna help us, right?"

"O-of course!" The boy's eyes widened, as if shocked that Yuri would even have to ask.

And truthfully, he didn't. Yuri took it for granted that his friends and fellow guild members were along for the ride. Not only was it in Brave Vesperia's code to look after their own, but they had formed an unlikely familial bond over the past year—with Yuri, the perpetual lone wolf. Even if he had tried to leave them out of this, they would have ended up following him anyway, scolding him for trying to handle things himself.

The wind shifted direction, driving the rain at an angle, and the slight overhang in the Union building's architecture hadn't been helping much in the first place. It was time to head back. Yuri had reached the bottom of the stairs when the door slowly opened and shut once more, and his mouth went dry. When no voice rang out in fury, he turned around.

Flynn made a chilling figure against the dark building, jaw set and blue eyes intense. The rain soaked him through in a matter of moments, plastering darkened blond hair against forehead and neck, his shirt now flat against him and almost translucent. He moved purposefully down the stairs, looking straight ahead but not at Yuri. The dark-haired man could only stand there as Flynn approached.

"Come along, now," said Judy, guiding Karol away by the elbow as he gaped and shot frantic glances back at the pair. Flynn passed Yuri without slowing, but stopped just a pace or two after that.

"I'll be at the inn," he said, and there was nothing in his voice. No warmth; no anger. He kept walking.

Yuri turned, watching the blond's retreating back. He had known that Flynn would be upset with him, but had expected a confrontation with raised voices. This felt different, uncomfortable, a vice-like pressure in his chest. He shivered, thoroughly drenched, but watched until Flynn had crossed the square, by then only an indistinct blur in the slanting rain. He thought that he could have handled the yelling.

* * *

As it turned out, Yuri had been right about the woman at the Crimson Stars. She was hanging off Raven's shoulder, giggling every so often at something the old man said. He wondered if she even remembered making a pass at Flynn earlier, and being so thoroughly denied. Heh. Not the first and not the last. You would think they'd learn. He tilted his mug, draining the rest of its contents.

It wasn't like he'd planned to come back to this place twice in the same day. Wasn't his idea. He had still been standing outside Union HQ when a voice behind him said "What, didja get left behind? Ah, come on, ol' Raven'll keep ya company." And so they had ended up at the tavern, with the promised 'company' predictably interrupted by just about every woman who walked through the door. Yuri still thought it was weird—no, that conversation _never_ happened. He made a face and headed for the bar, muttering a half-hearted apology to someone when he tripped over a leg of their chair. Must've slid out in front of him; they should really be more careful.

He leaned against the bar lazily, getting an appraising look from the bartender before he wordlessly turned to fill another drink. Snatches of a nearby conversation reached Yuri's ears, one he would have ignored except for a certain name that kept popping up.

"Flynn? Heard a funny rumor 'bout him today. They say he got kicked out of the Empire for almost gettin' the entire Council killed, and the prince n' princess besides."

"Heh heh, is that so? Should've kept him, then. Sounds like he was doing a fine job." The man laughed heartily, with the first speaker and a few bystanders joining in. Yuri stepped away from the bar and approached them.

"I'd love to know what's so funny," said Yuri. "Anyone care to translate? 'Cause I don't speak _idiot._"

The person who had spoken last blinked at him for a moment, then turned back toward his friends with a snort. Well, it had sounded more threatening in his head, which was feeling a little fuzzy at the moment. Time for the old-fashioned approach. He reached for the guy's shirt collar, turning him around again.

"You got a problem?" the man drawled. He was pretty big, but nothing Yuri couldn't handle. The tavern had gone quiet, the possibility of a fight far more interesting than conversation.

"Sir?" said the bartender, repeatedly. The drink went unnoticed.

Yuri swung his body around to strike the man—and stumbled to the left, colliding with the bar. There was something wrong with the room. Gravity. Perspective. Something. He was being lifted up by the front of his shirt, and then his foot connected solidly with the man's shin. His opponent released him with a satisfying grunt of pain. There was just enough time to smirk before someone else's fist slammed into the side of his face, decisively wiping off his smug expression. He whirled and kneed his attacker in the gut, but was pulled backward by the first guy and thrown into a nearby table. He tumbled over it and hit his head on a corner before slumping to the ground. Then there were arms looped around his, pulling him across the tavern; he wondered what had gone wrong, if he could get another hit or two in before they finished him off.

"Yer such a lightweight. Do I _have_ ta keep an eye on you every second?" Raven groused, settling him in a chair and looking him over. "Can't say I don't know what it's like to have somethin' to forget, though." He sighed dramatically, picking up an empty glass and turning it in his hand. Yuri rested his head on the table over crossed arms, only grunting in response as he concentrated on the throbbing in his temples.

"Looking for trouble, I see. How strange. It seems to find you often enough."

The cool tones of Judy's voice drifted down from behind Yuri's chair. He lifted his head and turned to look at her, blinking against the fresh stabs of pain that the movement brought. The old man, for his part, had made his escape to a nearby pair of women, slinging his arms around their shoulders and walking away from Judy and any blame that might fall on him.

"My, what a mess. You drank these all by yourself, without inviting me?" She arched a brow at Yuri, who glared at her. He tried to rise from the chair and shot a hand out to steady himself when his head disagreed with that plan. After waiting for the spots of light to stop dancing in front of his eyes, Yuri shuffled toward the exit. Judy appeared at his shoulder, gliding along beside him.

"I take it your conversation did not go well."

"Hm?"

"With Flynn, of course."

They were outside the tavern at this point, standing in the street where it dead-ended in stacks of crates and boxes. Beyond that, moonlight rippled on the moat-like river that surrounded the city. Yuri crossed his arms, frowning.

"I wouldn't say we had a conversation, exactly."

"Oh?" Judy tilted her head, her expression a mixture of curiosity and sympathy. Yuri snorted.

"Not really. Look, let's just head back to HQ."

Judy tapped her lips with one finger, looking as if she was considering something. "No," she finally said, with a small, sly smile.

"…no?"

"We," she said, hooking her arm in Yuri's, "are going to the inn."

Yuri tried to pull away, eyes widening. "Bad idea. He doesn't like me like this. Hell, I don't like me like this. That's why I don't usually…" He trailed off, making a helpless gesture. She nodded sympathetically, but kept walking in the same direction with Yuri's arm firmly captured.

"This could work to your advantage," she mused. His headache was already bad enough that he didn't feel like asking what she meant.

* * *

Flynn had been preparing to turn in early when someone knocked on the door of his room. If he wasn't mistaken, it was a very familiar knock: solid, but somehow lazy, using only one or two knuckles in an unhurried rap. He grimaced, but still crossed the room to answer. The man, he knew, was nothing if not determined.

"I do not wish to—what the _hell_, Yuri." His plan of a curt statement dissolved as he took in his friend's appearance. An angry purple bruise topped a knot on his forehead and his lower lip was swollen, blood crusted at the corner. Besides all that, he looked like he was about to fall over at any moment.

"Hey," said Yuri, a little unsteadily. His breath smelled strongly of alcohol. "Nice pajamas. Did…uh, did you steal those from the castle?"

If that was supposed to be an ice-breaker, it was a poor excuse for one. Flynn looked down at the blue-gray buttoned shirt and loose pants that he had put on because he had been sleeping in his clothes for the past few days—a situation that hadn't been all that uncommon as Commandant, either. Shaking his head, he wavered between the level of anger at Yuri that he had been nursing for most of the evening and being alarmed at his friend showing up at his door looking like a complete wreck.

"Get in here, you idiot," he said, frowning. Yuri stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. "And no. They're mine." He pinched his nose as he walked toward the window. After he had collected himself, Flynn turned around, glaring at the dark-haired man.

"You tricked and humiliated me," he said flatly.

"Yeah," said Yuri, shrugging. "I'm a bad guy. I get it. Ugh." He winced, holding his head.

"Not only that," Flynn continued, "but then you get into a fight like some kind of common drunk. Sit down." Pressing lightly on Yuri's shoulder, he oriented his friend so that he would be seated on the edge of the bed. Flynn peered at the bruise, giving it a light prod with his fingers.

"Ow. Yeah, that hurts. Stop it." Yuri snatched his hand, pushing it away. "You could've said something."

"What?"

"At the Union. You could have told Harry that you didn't accept the terms."

Flynn straightened, turning his back on the other man. Neither of them said anything for a long moment.

"You know that I could not," said Flynn.

"Why? No one was forcing you."

The blond man clenched his fist. Yuri was baiting him, and he would not allow him to have the satisfaction. He faced him once more, and realized that his friend not only still held his head but also looked distinctly ill.

"How exactly did you get that knot?"

"I don't know. This table, it appeared out of nowhere—"

"Tell me," said Flynn, sharply. Yuri stood, swaying slightly as he moved.

"Don't want to. Not if you're gonna yell at me," he muttered, stumbling across the room.

"Yuri—" His admonishment was interrupted by his friend being rather noisily sick on the decorative plant in the corner. With a long-suffering sigh, Flynn guided him back to the bed and sat beside him.

"That is what I was afraid of. You probably have a concussion."

"Mmph," Yuri groaned, now holding his head _and_ his stomach. He would have to stay overnight, that much was certain. Grudges and betrayals could wait.

"I'll get a doctor to be sure, but you should remember how this works. I will have to wake you up every so often. However, you can't sleep just yet. Do you understand?"

Yuri nodded slowly, eyes half-open. He sighed, then stretched out on the bed with his head resting on Flynn's leg.

"Um," said Flynn, but he didn't move. Yuri's breathing suggested that he wasn't asleep; clearly, the man was feeling terrible. The mixture of a large amount of alcohol, brawl injuries and a concussion wasn't doing him any favors, besides whatever distress had driven him there in the first place.

After a while, when Yuri still hadn't shifted from his chosen pillow, Flynn reached out and swept a stray lock of hair away from his face, gently hooking it behind his ear. He had done it without thinking—his breath hitched when he realized the potential implications of such an action, but Yuri was apparently too out of it to notice. This encounter, Flynn realized grimly as he looked down at his friend, would likely have been very different if the man had shown up at his door sober and uninjured. He probably would not even have let him in the room. Flynn shook his head, conflicted and weary. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

A/N: Hee. :D …did I ever mention how much I love Judith? 'Cause I do. Also, she knows that Flynn is at the inn because he stopped by Brave Vesperia headquarters to get his stuff. Just to clarify. (A slight edit: I don't know if anyone noticed, 'cause no one called me on it, but I wrote the wrong tavern name in this chapter! Fixed now. I try to watch out for details like that, but it slipped by in this case. *laughs*)


	13. Connections

**13. Connections**

"My little brother did _what_?"

Marten eyed Cyrus warily, massaging his wrists where shackles had rubbed against them. They were resting in the shelter of a hill south of Zaphias, taking a brief opportunity to catch their breath. Breaking the big man out of jail had not been easy. It was probably the last time they could use Warren's contacts in the castle—suspicion would fall on them, now.

"I don't know. Lucas panicked, I guess. Thought he was going to jail, so he gave them information about the Fist. But Cy, he doesn't know that much. He's just a kid."

"He's old enough to be dangerous. And trust me, he can figure things out for himself well enough." Cyrus frowned. "I just can't believe he ran off like that. He _knew_ I'd be coming back for him."

"Huh. Wasn't exactly a guarantee," said Marten. "Jules, dead. Man. That's just not right."

The two men fell silent. It had been a bad few days for the Zaphias cell: Jules killed by a Nameless One for failing the organization, Warren executed, Leon still being held in the castle prison. And now, when Cyrus should have been focusing on taking over the reins of the capital city's group, he was distracted by his brother's apparent defection to their enemy. He exhaled, frustrated.

"We need to move," he finally said. "My boat is on the beach west of here."

"Boat? You just got back. I thought we were heading back to the base, Cy."

Cyrus shook his head. "Too risky. We don't have any standing orders, anyway. It's better for our cell to lay low for a while. It might be too late to warn the Fist members in Dahngrest, but we're the only ones that even have a shot at it."

"And you want to find Lucas." There was no question in the quiet rumble of Marten's voice.

"Yes."

He had not fled Mantaic with the boy after their parents' murder by Cumore and his knights, only to abandon his last surviving relative to the very people they had sworn to oppose. The thought of Lucas associating with them made his blood boil. Cyrus wasn't sure which was worse: his brother willingly leaving him, or those people taking advantage of the kid's naïve idealism. Lucas had not developed the stomach for what had to be done, yet. He didn't understand.

The two men crept under the cover of darkness and the landscape's sparse vegetation, making for the long strip of sand just beyond the next hill. In the distance, the baying of the knights' war dogs echoed across the plains. They started running.

* * *

Memory is a funny thing. Although the details were hazy and disconnected, impressions of the night at the inn still floated to the surface, breaking through the pain and nausea and confusion. Different voices and faces had drifted in and out of the room—a man that he could only assume was the doctor was one. Judy seemed to have been there at one point as well. Mostly, though, he remembered a nudge at his shoulder until he opened his eyes in the darkness, a face hovering over him, asking if he was alright. It felt like a pattern that went on forever, annoying but oddly comforting.

There were other things that only happened once. These he remembered less clearly, as sensations from a feverish, unreal state. Like waking up suddenly on his own to a churning stomach, being hunched over until he was sure there was nothing left—a hand gathering his long hair back; cool fingers on his brow as he tried, fitfully, to sleep again. Or another time when, a stab of pain jolting him awake, his grumblings were overlaid with soothing, half-whispered words. And then the first clear memory, of opening his eyes into slits to see his friend curled up in a nearby chair, head lolled against his shoulder, stirring the hair that fell across his cheek with steady, even breaths.

Morning light began chasing the shadows out of the room, finally reaching the bed where Yuri tried to piece these things together. His head now throbbed in a less demanding way, reminding him more of the consequences of his rather uncharacteristic drinking binge than serious injury. As for his stomach, it felt better than earlier if a little sour, but his mouth tasted absolutely disgusting. He groaned, flopping over from his side to his back and blinking up at the unfamiliar ceiling.

As if the sound were a summons, Flynn appeared at his side only moments later.

"Sorry," he said. "Ah, I fell asleep." He raked a hand through his hair, stifling a yawn. Of course, he was still wearing those pajamas—had Yuri made a comment about them? There were many reasons he didn't allow himself to get drunk very often, and blurting out stupid things without meaning to was one. If he was going to say something ridiculous, it was going to be on purpose, thanks.

"Don't apologize," said Yuri, rolling his eyes. No matter whether he had a rank or not, Flynn was still Flynn—expecting nothing less than perfection, putting duty to others above his own needs, wearing himself out and then berating himself for not having that last ounce to give.

To his surprise, Flynn nodded.

"You're right. I shouldn't." He stepped away from the bed, regarding him coolly. "You seem to be feeling better."

Yuri couldn't help frowning at the shift in his friend's behavior toward him.

"A bit, yeah," he admitted.

"Good. How does your head feel?"

"Heh. Like I have a massive hangover. But other than that, it's great."

Flynn was silent for a moment, just looking at him. He turned and rummaged through a bag, his back to Yuri so that he couldn't see exactly what the blond man was doing. Having retrieved what he needed, Flynn stepped over to a table against the wall which held, among other things, a white ceramic pitcher and a glass. After pouring water into it, he opened his other hand over the glass and stirred in what appeared to be some type of herb mixture until it turned the water an alarming shade of green.

"I'm supposed to drink that?" said Yuri. "Yeah, I'm not sure I want to."

"Don't be a child. It is not as bad as it looks." He handed the glass to Yuri, who took a whiff and swirled the contents suspiciously.

"Right. If this is a hangover remedy, I doubt you would know what it tastes like. How do you even know how to make this?"

Flynn shrugged. "Not everyone in the knights exercises the appropriate level of self-control. I've learned certain things out of necessity."

With that explained, Yuri raised the glass to his lips, taking in a mouthful of the liquid and quickly swallowing it down. He coughed, glaring in turn at the offending glass and his friend's face.

"It tastes like sewage. What did you put in here?"

Flynn's lips quirked upward, just a little. "Just drink it, Yuri."

Somehow, Yuri managed to choke down the rest of the drink, hoping his stomach would accept it as a peace offering rather than rebel against him once more. When he had set the empty glass on a side table near the bed, he settled back against the pillows. Maybe it was only a mental thing, but he thought that he already felt a little better.

"That," he said, "was disgusting. But thanks. I mean, not just for…whatever that was."

Flynn, who had been parting the window's curtains and looking outside while Yuri finished the vile beverage, cast a quick glance his way. He made a sound of acknowledgment, but that was all.

"Man, I was messed up last night. I don't remember half of what happened." Yuri closed his eyes. "You really didn't have to help me at all. So, uh—" His somewhat awkward attempt at explaining his gratitude was interrupted by the bed's springs creaking. Yuri's eyes snapped open to find Flynn leaning over him, hand braced against the edge of the mattress. He swallowed, wishing he still had alcohol and adrenaline to blame for the way that his heart was racing. Maybe it was that hangover muck. He could see it doing all kinds of strange things to his system.

"I did not," said Flynn, "do it because things are fine between us. Do not be mistaken on that point." He straightened, though his eyes did not leave his friend's. Yuri could only nod weakly in response.

"What you did at the Union meeting was inexcusable. Only another example of how little you understand about the responsibility I have held in the knights. You are far too used to living by your own set of rules, doing things as you see fit. We're not the same, Yuri. You cannot make decisions for me. I would think by now that you would know that."

Yuri frowned, pulling himself up into a sitting position.

"One thing that I do remember from last night is asking you why you didn't say no, Flynn. I didn't need an answer."

The blond man looked away, saying nothing.

"You knew that I was right." There, he had said it.

"We could have negotiated," said Flynn, after a beat—not, Yuri noted, denying his claim. "Accepting their first offer is a sign of weakness and desperation."

Yuri laughed. "We _are_ desperate."

"I worked and struggled for most of my life to achieve the rank of Commandant, to have the power to change things from the inside," said Flynn, sternly. "Not to allow the Union to take credit for my position, or give them power and influence over Imperial resources."

"Yeah, I get that. But they wouldn't be _making_ you Commandant again. They're just doing what they can to help you get there. You would be the one making it happen."

"Is that truly different?" said Flynn. "What will stop them from saying that it was their doing?"

"Me," said Yuri, crossing his arms. The blond raised an eyebrow. "And the old man. All of us."

Flynn sighed, running a hand over his face. "I am not certain that it is enough."

"So talk to Harry. He doesn't want to make you look weak, Flynn. He's just looking out for Dahngrest and the guilds. You could work something out."

Dropping his hand, Flynn fixed Yuri with one of his patient, 'you really are an idiot sometimes' looks.

Yuri stared in disbelief. "Hold on. You already did. You—then why go through all of this?"

"Because you presumed that you knew better than I did. Because you undermined my right to make that decision for myself," Flynn said, voice rising with each point. "It was cruel and underhanded and embarrassing. You deceived me. It is only fair that I—why are you smiling at me like that? This is serious, Yuri."

Oh, yeah. Of course it was. But that didn't stop the grin from spreading across Yuri's face as his friend scolded him—because, secretly, he thought this meant that they were going to be okay.

* * *

"We have a name," said Flynn.

He and the others were seated at the long table where meals were served at Brave Vesperia's headquarters. When Flynn and Yuri had arrived, Judith announced brightly that she was cooking lunch for everyone and insisted they eat before any business was presented.

"That's it?" Yuri, seated at his left, leaned over and whispered sarcastically—though loud enough for everyone else to hear. "Maybe we _should_ have negotiated."

Flynn shook his head. "Of course not. Harry also told me where the man can be found. This will allow us to follow him and gain information about the cell—potentially even lead us to where these people meet."

"Tailing him, huh. Sounds like fun," said Yuri, smirking with a look in his eyes that said the plan was his kind of dangerous. "So, what's the name?"

"Merle Dar."

A small, sharp intake of breath from the other end of the table drew everyone's attention to Lucas, who smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry. I know him. Sort of. He came by our group in Zaphias a few times—with Warren, usually. They're friends, which might give you an idea of what a _great_ guy he is." Lucas wrinkled his nose.

"You could identify him on sight, then?" said Flynn. The boy nodded and Judith, who had been serving dessert, slid around the table to where he sat.

"You see? I knew that he would be useful," she said, hugging Lucas around the shoulders. He cast his eyes down, cheeks darkening a shade. Raven didn't really help matters by shooting a wink his way as Judith briefly ruffled his mop of dark hair. Seated stiffly, the youth stared into his layered pudding parfait, apparently unwilling to look elsewhere.

"That will be helpful," Flynn agreed. "It will be several hours until the time that Dar is known to be at this location, so until then, we should assemble a strategy concerning—"

He jumped when Judith's hand settled on his shoulder, the other reaching around to set his dessert on the table.

"_We_ will strategize. You're in no shape to be thinking so hard." She laughed softly. "I'm sure that Yuri wouldn't mind showing you to the guest room. Hm? Isn't that right?"

It took the dark-haired man a moment to realize he was being addressed. Apparently having been absorbed in eating a spoonful of pudding, he turned his head to look at Flynn and Judith. As Yuri blinked at them owlishly, loosely gripping the handle at the corner of his mouth, Flynn had to firmly remind himself that he was angry with him. _Very_ angry.

* * *

A/N: Early chapter! :D Ah, Cyrus. We haven't seen him in a while. But he was traveling back alone from Capua Torim, so… (A quick note, because I don't know how else to do this: someone left me a PM recently with a question, and I really want to reply but they have PMs disabled. So that would have to be fixed if they want me to answer. :) )

_So_, I've been getting a few reviews that are a bit confused about the role of blastia and mana and such in this version of post-game Terca Lumireis. (You don't have to read this ramble if you don't care or don't have time. Haha.) The game does _very_ little to explain exactly what's going to happen after the blastia was given up to fight the Adephagos. There's some allusions to the mages and blastia researchers looking into using spirit mana to replace it, but I got the impression that this was pretty preliminary at the end of the game and would be a while before it was stable and thoroughly researched. So that's what I'm going with: mana cannot yet be used, so unless you're Estelle or Raven, you're not using any artes/blastia. (Because I understand it that Estelle can use them naturally because of the whole Full Moon thing and Raven's uses his life-force. If that's not right, please tell me. This whole issue confuses me half the time. :p)

Also, some things are really game mechanics. In the game, gels and healing artes apparently heal _everything _because when your characters come out of a battle they need to have their full HP again. They can't exactly be getting scars and battle wounds as the game goes on. Personally, I think most of the world's inhabitants have always relied on regular, traditional doctors as well. (For example, the doctor in Aurnion who was impressed with Estelle.)


	14. Cover

**14. Cover**

Leaning his head against the brick wall behind him, Yuri winced as a hairpin dug into his scalp. Not for the first time, he wondered why he had allowed Judy to talk him into this.

"How many men do you know with hair as long as yours?" she had said, after Flynn had been shown to his room and the guild had discussed their plan for tracking down Merle Dar. Yuri tried not to notice the playful glint in Judy's eyes as she spoke.

"Duke," he had started to say, then realized the example only served to prove her point. That guy wasn't exactly inconspicuous. Yuri briefly wondered what the silvery-haired man was up to these days, but was jolted out of these thoughts as Judy twisted a large section of his hair and held it atop his head, humming to herself.

She had convinced him that Dar would be suspicious if he noticed Yuri following him, might already know what he looked like or be able to recognize him later. So he had ended up with most of his hair tucked and pinned under a hat, with a few straggling tendrils secured in the back. He felt a little ridiculous, but had to admit she had done a good job. In the dim light of early evening, he should look like just another man in a stylish black hat.

But the pins were annoying.

He stood in the shadows of a two-story brick building, looking across the street at a flight of stairs that led up to double-doors flanked by columns. It was, Flynn had explained, the city's largest library—Imperial scholars often complained bitterly of the important documents that were held in Dahngrest's collection. A long, handsome building faced with white stone, it was an unlikely place as any for finding a man known for inciting terror and violence. Yuri had to admit, though, that being a librarian was a pretty good cover job if you wanted to avoid suspicion. People could come up to Dar and whisper extremist business without it seeming strange.

Lucas had given them a signal from the foot of the stairs when the man arrived at the building; his role in the mission finished, he turned and walked back to Brave Vesperia HQ. Flynn would be somewhere behind Yuri, out of sight but able to see when the dark-haired man signaled that Dar was on the move. They had been waiting for a while. Yuri resisted the urge to feel the back of his head, knowing the pinned hair would start falling out if he messed with it. Judy had warned him about it more than once before they left headquarters.

There. The doors opened and Dar stepped out, cinching the belt of a dark green coat as he made his way down the steps. He was tall, lean, with wispy thinning hair and an angular face. Yuri kept to the shadows until the man turned onto the street, then walked at a leisurely pace toward the library and perused a table of books for sale while watching him in his peripheral vision. After what felt like a safe amount of time had passed, he turned to follow.

Yuri had no illusions that Dar would be careless about his surroundings as he headed for his next destination. As a member of the extremist group, the man would have disciplined himself to be wary of the very thing that Flynn and Yuri were attempting. They would just have to be careful. Fortunately, maintaining secrecy meant that Dar had to blend in as well, so he stayed on the main streets. There were enough people walking that Yuri could stay relatively close without attracting suspicion. He did his best not to keep his gaze on the man, who subtly looked in all directions and would notice someone purposefully following behind him.

At an intersection, Merle Dar slipped around the corner onto a narrow street. It was time to make the switch. Yuri casually rested his right hand on his hip to indicate which way the man was turning, a signal that also meant that Flynn would break off down an earlier side street, weaving between buildings until he emerged on the same street and became the primary pursuant.

And there he was, blond hair easily picked out against the falling darkness. Yuri hung back, now—just another person on an evening stroll and not following Dar after all. That, at least, was what they hoped he would think. The street was long and winding, and Dar stayed on it for a while. As Yuri kept the two in sight, he was able to observe Flynn as he stopped to look at shop displays, read the plaques on guild buildings, but never lost sight of the man in the green coat.

It was a little strange, watching the blond man walk ahead of him, because he was wearing one of Yuri's shirts. When he had gone to wake Flynn up and relay the plan to him, Yuri had suggested they wear dark clothing in case they had to quickly blend into the shadows. Most of Flynn's shirts were fairly light in color, so Yuri had dug around for a clean black shirt and let his friend borrow it for the night. Stuck behind him, Yuri couldn't help noticing stupid things like how it intensified the color of his hair—he'd have to lend Flynn his hat if they ever _did_ need to hide—and how it clung to his frame in different places as he moved. Making a frustrated sound under his breath, Yuri looked briefly up at the moon; it was an imperfect, lopsided circle, a few days away from being full.

* * *

Fortunately, Merle Dar stopped in front of what appeared to be a restaurant only minutes later. Flynn kept walking once the man went up the path to the entrance, doubling back only when Dar had gone inside. He and Yuri couldn't meet in the open as long as there was the potential for the extremist to remember both of them walking behind him at different points—the blond slipped down a street out of view of the restaurant's windows, but where they could still see when their quarry left the building. After stopping to buy some food from a street vendor, Yuri casually stepped over to join Flynn.

"So far everything's going fine," he said, settling against the wall next to him. He forgot the pins again, nearly dropping the meat pie he had bought as one hand flew up at the pain in his abused scalp. Lifting the hat, he adjusted his hair until the pinching sensation went away.

"Yes," said Flynn, watching him curiously. The corner of Yuri's mouth twitched.

"It's all Judy," he explained. "I think she has way too much fun playing hairdresser."

"Ah. For a while, I thought you might have cut it."

Yuri was inwardly amused that the man looked _relieved_, of all things. Flynn had gone with Lucas to the library before Judy had finished with Yuri's hair, so he had only seen it from a distance until now.

"Heh. Not in this lifetime. Want some?" He held one end of the pastry out to his friend, who politely declined. With a shrug, Yuri bit into it, burning his tongue on the first bite of savory filling. While they waited, he ate and watched as streetlamps were lit and the number of people walking began to dwindle. There were still quite a few out, though, many of them heading to places like the restaurant or the city's many taverns. Dahngrest did not sleep.

Caught up in people-watching and enjoying the cool night, Yuri abruptly realized the hand that had been holding his snack felt lighter. He glanced back at Flynn, who looked entirely too innocent chewing a bite of the pilfered meat pie.

"Hey," said Yuri, with mock indignation. "You said you didn't want any."

"I changed my mind," said Flynn, a smile ghosting across his lips. He took another bite.

"Oh, is that how it works?"

"Mm." He nodded once, popping the rest of the pastry into his mouth and dusting off his hands.

Yuri turned away with a smirk. It really didn't bother him at all. The action betrayed how comfortable Flynn was and reminded Yuri how easy it could be between them. At his back, he could feel Flynn's presence, warm and familiar. It was enough, a constant despite their past few years of conflict. For now, though, he was getting tired of standing around.

"There," Flynn whispered, and movement outside the building caught Yuri's eye—that now-familiar green coat, lingering near the entrance.

"Did you see who he was meeting with?" They would have to split up and follow separate targets; Flynn would stick with Dar, while Yuri tracked the other half of the rendezvous. He could only hope it wasn't something mundane, like a book seller or a non-extremist friend.

"I saw him shake hands with a woman as I passed by the window," said Flynn. "Tall, with red hair. She will be impossible to miss."

Shortly after Flynn finished speaking, Dar started walking back the way he came—Flynn passed Yuri with a short nod, then moved to shadow the man. Over the next few minutes, more people filed out of the restaurant, but no one who matched the description. Finally, when Yuri was starting to consider the possibility that the woman had slipped out a back entrance, she appeared.

Flynn hadn't been exaggerating. The woman was all leg and slink and deep-red hair. Maybe it was being unfair to the man, but Yuri suspected that anything between Merle Dar and her was strictly business. She strode forward in vicious-looking heels and a snug dress the color and sheen of copper, a stark opposite of Dar's unassuming demeanor. 'Hiding in plain sight' definitely applied in this case.

As he began following the woman, Yuri realized that the game had changed. His new target walked much faster than Dar, making it more difficult to subtly keep her within his sights. If he maintained a leisurely pace, he would lose her; if he walked briskly behind the woman, his purpose would be obvious. Torn between two unacceptable options, Yuri decided on a compromise. He jogged ahead of her and then moved a bit faster as if he had a goal in mind, like he was late meeting someone or wanted to get to a store before it closed for the night. Yuri could pick out sharp click of her heels on the streets of Dahngrest behind him, and would notice if they retreated or turned away from the current path.

With his focus so intently fixed on the sound and being amused that he was tracking someone by walking ahead of them, Yuri was startled when a deep voice called out nearby—and even more so when its owner wrapped a meaty hand around the back of his neck. His first thought was that he'd been noticed, but what the man said next removed all questions from his mind.

"I wasn't done with you last night," he growled, fingers pressing into the side of Yuri's throat.

Great. That guy. Yuri didn't remember most of the fight's details, but from the injuries and lingering sense of shame he was pretty sure he'd lost, and badly. At least Flynn wasn't around to witness this. Worse, though, was the possibility of the red-haired woman disappearing while Yuri was taking care of this idiot.

He wrenched himself away, putting some distance between himself and the large, aggressive man. Taking in his immediate surroundings at a glance, Yuri noticed that they stood outside something called the Midnight Sky. A tavern. It figured. Apparently the guy was a regular at places like this. He also insisted on having another fight, and Yuri hated to disappoint. No alcohol, no close quarters—this time, it'd be quick and painless. For him, at least.

Right behind Yuri, the shoes clicked and the woman lightly cleared her throat before anyone could land a blow. The guy from the bar fight stared at her, frozen. She didn't have to say a word. Stuttering an apology, the man shuffled away, disappearing into the tavern's hazy darkness.

This wasn't how things were supposed to happen, but Yuri would just have to go along with it. The woman stepped up to him, bare arms crossed under her chest. In the heels, she was a little taller than him—she looked Yuri over coolly, as if she was summing him up in that instant. He repressed a shiver.

"Nice hat," she said, voice as sultry as she looked. There was an edge of sweetness to it, but it felt artificial, somehow calculated.

"Thanks." Yuri hoped she didn't look too closely. The hair would be difficult to explain.

Her lips curved into a smile. "Of course."

Yuri thought, then, that she would walk away, that his part of the mission would be a wash. She didn't.

"That was pretty good," he said, tilting his head toward the tavern. The woman laughed, short and dry.

"It comes in handy. Though it doesn't seem to work on you." She arched a brow, as if intrigued.

"I don't scare that easy. Should I be?"

"You should be _terrified_," she said, flashing a feral grin. "I have been trying to figure you out, you should know. You're a tough read. Do you have a name?"

"Most people do."

She laughed again. "Walk with me."

So he did.

* * *

As the night grew late, they were often the only people traveling the twisting streets. It would have been difficult for Yuri to follow the woman at this point, though he was sure he would have found a way.

Her name—or at least, the name she gave—was Mira. When pressed for his again, Yuri would only shrug. This seemed to encourage her more than anything, as she laughed with delight and declared him "exceptionally mysterious." Mira laughed a lot.

She did most of the talking, mainly superficial commentary on the guilds—wasn't the fighting dreadful?—or complaining about her family. Her father, it seemed, owned several of the most successful taverns, which neatly explained both her extravagant appearance and the horrified reaction of the bar-fight thug to her blatant disapproval. But the man was a _tyrant_, said Mira, and she had cut ties with him and the rest of her family completely. She reminded him of someone, Yuri realized, but it slipped away.

The conversation was dull and vapid for the most part, but Yuri did his best to turn on the charm. If he could convince her he was harmless, even interested, she might slip and reveal more than she intended. He wondered, though, if Flynn should have followed this target instead, considering how women seemed to flock to him. His friend was the one with the winning smile.

"…like that, don't you think?" she was saying, and Yuri hadn't been listening at all. Well, he wasn't going to catch any extremist secrets if he wasn't even paying attention. He made a vague sound of agreement, which seemed to satisfy her. She kept talking.

"Kaufman," said Yuri, as it finally hit him. The woman whirled on him, green eyes flashing.

"How did you—oh, the Fortune's Market Kaufman? Yes. She's my cousin." Mira pursed her lips, and Yuri could see it. If the merchant's guild woman traded the business attire for glam, she would probably look a lot like this.

"You have a good eye," she continued. "I take it you've met her."

"We're acquainted," Yuri said, shrugging loosely.

Mira seemed to withdraw a little at that point, stealing appraising glances over at him when she thought he wasn't paying attention. She also toned down the empty-headed chatter, which was just as well. From the sharp look she had given him when they first met, he had already suspected it largely an act.

They were entering one of the more affluent neighborhoods of Dahngrest, populated by the sprawling estates of some of the most successful guild members and those who had fled the Empire's grasp but taken their wealth with them. The city was, after all, the perfect place for anyone who wished to be left alone or to avoid heavy imperial taxation.

Yuri rarely had a reason to wander into this area, and he eyed the buildings as they passed. It reminded him of the Royal Quarter, which wasn't entirely a good thing. Haughty nobles with no sympathy for the poverty-stricken quarter where he had lived. Estelle was still the only one he firmly _liked_, but she had enough compassion to make up for the lot of them.

Mira stopped at an intersection, lingering there for a moment as she looked at Yuri with an apologetic half-smile.

"This is where we go our separate ways, I'm afraid." She swooped in and kissed the air beside Yuri's cheek before he could blink. "Thank you for keeping me company. It was…enlightening."

Despite the fact that she had dominated the conversation, Yuri felt that on some level, Mira meant that. It made him wonder just what, exactly, she had learned. The woman turned to leave, walking swiftly away from him down the path. For Yuri, their night was not yet over. He would be swift and silent, move along the estates' grounds while keeping her in his sights.

As it turned out, she didn't have much further to go. The estate was far from being the neighborhood's largest, but nonetheless impressive. Crouching behind a hedge, Yuri watched Mira approach the main building. Just as she raised a hand to knock, the woman glanced almost idly at the spot where he was hiding. Though it was difficult to tell from this distance, he thought he heard her softly laughing.

* * *

A/N: Agh, the lack of dialogue in a lot of this was necessary but _weird_ to write. Hope you enjoyed this more descriptive/action-y chapter—though, as usual, with a dash of flirty hints. ;) I am already looking forward to writing the next one. *secretive grin*

Also: to the reviewers that I couldn't personally respond to either because they posted anonymously or can't receive private messages, thanks so much for your kind words and for taking the time to let me know what you think of the story so far!


	15. Heat

**15. Heat**

As soon as he stepped through the door, Yuri was yanking pins out of his hair, muttering angrily when he found that some were stuck, the strands stubbornly wrapped around them. Judith emerged from the lounge, making sympathetic sounds as she worked the pins loose. Flynn, seated nearby but unnoticed for the moment, had been back for a while. His part of the mission had certainly been exciting: Merle Dar walked back to the library and sat in his office for a little over an hour, then went home.

"Did you have to use so many?" said Yuri, sliding one out from beside his ear and feeling around until he found another near the top of his neck. Judith, standing behind him, only smiled. Running his fingers through to make sure he had gotten them all, Yuri glanced over at the chair where his friend sat.

"Flynn. Hey," he said, one side of his mouth quirked into a smile. "Better, right?" He flipped most of his hair behind his shoulders.

Much, Flynn thought, but didn't say. It had been a surprise to realize that the idea of Yuri cutting off that long hair of his had really bothered Flynn. While he had suspected that was not the case, the possibility was…disappointing? Hm. He cracked a yawn, hiding it behind his hand. Flynn had wanted to wait up for Yuri's return, but he had been gone longer than he expected.

"Were you successful?" he asked.

"Yeah. You could say that," said Yuri. "How about you? Learn anything?"

Flynn smiled tightly. "I learned that Merle Dar is a very dedicated librarian."

"Heh." Yuri shook his head. "Man, I don't know about you, but I've had enough excitement for one night. I'm heading to bed. We'll have a meeting in the morning, I guess."

"That sounds like a good idea. I'm curious to find out what you've learned, and I am sure the others will be as well."

Yuri smirked. "Sometimes you could just say 'okay,' Flynn."

"Ah…okay."

"There you go. Night," he said as he walked down the hall, lazily waving his hand through the air.

"Goodnight, Yuri," Flynn said quietly, but laughed a few moments later when his friend pulled a final, rogue pin from his hair, scowling at it with disgust before he flicked it onto the floor.

* * *

Papers and maps covered the table. Yuri held the edges of one down with a palm and an elbow, scrawling the layout of the extremist hideout with his free hand. Raven and Judith huddled over it on either side of him, with Karol and Lucas craning their necks to see from further down the table. Flynn sat across from him, listening to his explanation of the night's events.

"There are guards here, here and here." He marked their locations with tiny x's. "They're dressed like regular people, but I watched them for a while—they definitely seem to be patrolling to keep out unwanted guests."

"You mean ta tell me," said Raven, "that you were _led_ there by a beautiful woman? Knew I shoulda volunteered." He sighed loudly.

"I suppose if our goal was to get her to run as far away as possible, yes," Judith said lightly, prompting indignant sputtering from the former knight captain. Flynn tried not to let his discomfort show. He had gotten a good look at this 'Mira' at the restaurant, and he wasn't sure how he felt about Yuri wiling away the evening hours in her company.

"Are you kiddin'? The ladies love me! Tell her, Yuri," Raven was pleading. Ignoring him entirely, Yuri continued sketching out the estate's entrances and defenses. While he hadn't been inside the building, he made educated guesses about rooms based on the number of windows and what little he could see through them.

"A lot of people coming and going," he said, "but I don't know if this is the main base for Dahngrest. Maybe. It seemed a little too easy, though."

"You think they're just really confident?" said Karol. "Maybe they don't think anyone can beat them."

"That wouldn't surprise me," Lucas interjected. "If it's Merle Dar's group, then it's also Warren's. They're both _very_ arrogant."

Yuri looked up from the map, seeming to consider this. "It makes sense. Mira acted confident enough. I think she knew I was checking the place out, but she didn't send anyone after me."

Smirking, Raven elbowed the dark-haired man. "Maybe she just liked you, kid."

Flynn felt his stomach clench, but Yuri's eyes held no warmth or humor.

"No, that's not it," he said. "That woman is hiding something."

"Aren't they _all_?" said Raven with a grimace. Judith smiled slyly at him, and he shivered.

Yuri shook his head, setting his pen aside.

"She's related to Kaufman. We know how manipulative that woman can be, but at least she's playing for the good guys. Mira isn't." He frowned. "Don't get me wrong, she's interesting, even charming, but I don't know how real it is."

"If Dahngrest's group is the one responsible for the explosion at the Council meeting, Mira may be very dangerous indeed," said Flynn, no longer willing to remain silent. "She and the rest will have to be brought to justice."

Perhaps there had been more heat and volume in his voice than he intended. Everyone at the table looked a little startled by his sudden declaration, though none disagreed. Karol even boasted that Brave Vesperia would be 'supremely awesome agents of justice,' or some such thing. Flynn smiled weakly. Like Yuri, he was unsettled by the mysterious woman's behavior. He just wasn't sure if it was entirely for the same reasons.

The group returned their focus to strategizing—they pointed out potential weak spots in the patrol and discussed ways they might gather more information about the extremists in Dahngrest. Judith was concerned that Yuri may have been compromised by Mira having seen his face, uncomfortable hairstyle aside. Unfortunately, while it had allowed Yuri to approach the estate without having to shadow the extremist woman, that part of the mission certainly had not gone according to plan. They would have to carefully consider Yuri's part in any further operations involving the building.

In the end, it was determined that more information would be needed before they could think about attempting to infiltrate or move against the estate. The guild—plus Lucas and Flynn—would take turns covertly watching the neighborhood and Dar's library. The taverns that Mira's father owned could also potentially be a source of information; Yuri firmly refused to be the one to handle that issue. Risking another run-in with his old bar 'friend' was not his idea of fun, he said, and he had decided to steer clear of taverns for a while in any case. Flynn firmly agreed, but didn't understand Yuri's look of alarm when he volunteered to handle it instead.

"Raven should do it."

"Why?"

"He likes taverns."

"Won't he just get distracted by the women?"

"Hey, hold on now." That, naturally, was the man himself. "I'm a professional, ya know."

"A professional womanizer, do you mean?" Judith winked. Raven scowled at her.

"I will go," Flynn insisted once more. "If you are concerned about my being recognized, I will find some way to disguise myself."

Yuri blinked at him, apparently lacking a response to that.

"Changing your hair like mine wouldn't work," he finally said, though almost muttering to himself. "A hat, maybe. Or…hm."

"Yes?"

"Can you grow a beard?"

"_What_? No!" Flynn knitted his brows, wondering why Yuri was so worried about this. True, he had been attacked in the park, but he was hardly defenseless, and doubted that most of Dahngrest's residents wanted to harm him, no matter how deeply rooted their anti-imperial sentiments.

"Huh. That's too bad."

"Yuri…" Flynn sighed. "I mean, perhaps I can. I am not sure. But this isn't necessary. I am going to the taverns; it will be fine."

He shifted uncomfortably when he realized that the rest of the people in the room were watching their exchange. Most of them wore an expression that was some variation of 'confused,' but Judith was smiling in an odd, slightly disconcerting way. Flynn was grateful when the conversation turned back to planning their next move.

Finally, Raven leaned back in his chair. "Alright, that's it. My old eyes can't take another minute of this. Is there anything around ta eat? I'm _starvin'_."

Yuri rolled up his map and secured it, then pushed his chair away from the table. "Yeah, I'll cook. I've had something in mind anyway." He stood, and in that moment Lucas caught Flynn's eye with a pointed look, as if to say 'well?' The blond man took a breath.

"I'd like to help," he said. Immediately, everyone seated at the table besides Lucas looked distinctly uneasy. Was it _really_ so bad that all of them felt this way? He supposed it must be.

"Sure," Yuri responded casually, but there was something unreadable in his eyes. He started walking toward the kitchen, with Flynn following a few steps behind him. Lucas gave the blond man an encouraging gesture as he walked by; that inscrutable Krityan was smiling again.

* * *

As soon as the door swung shut behind them, Yuri set to pulling out bowls and pans and various ingredients from the pantry. Flynn stood back, unfamiliar with the organization of Brave Vesperia's kitchen and certain that Yuri would be able to find what he needed more quickly anyway.

"You can help me make a fruit salad," said Yuri, setting a cutting board and knife on the counter in front of his friend. A variety of fruit—strawberries, oranges, bananas—was arranged around it. Flynn, however, could hear the unspoken part of Yuri's decision: there wasn't much that a person could mess up if they were just chopping things. Well, he would start small and watch Yuri as he handled the more complex recipes. He _would_ figure out where he was going wrong.

On the other side of the narrow kitchen, Yuri lit the flame beneath a cooking surface and placed a deep pot, partially filled with oil, atop it. Flynn cast glances back as he cut the leaves off the strawberries, watching his friend pull apart some dough he had apparently prepared in advance and cut them into evenly sized pieces. Making food _look_ good Flynn could already do. He frowned, wishing Yuri would make something he would need to add spices or flavoring to—that was where Flynn had difficulties. The knife slipped a little, and he pulled his fingers out of the way just in time. Perhaps he should be paying attention to his own task first, he thought, shaking his head at himself.

As Flynn placed a peeled banana on the cutting board, he felt Yuri hovering over his shoulder.

"How's it going?" he asked, grabbing a piece of strawberry from the bowl and leaning against the counter beside his friend. Flynn pushed the knife at an angle through the fruit, making thin, uniform slices that fell in a neat line across the board.

"Nice," said Yuri, "but we'll be here all morning if you do it that way."

Stepping closer to Flynn's side, he wrapped his hand around the one that held the knife. A thrill from the unexpected contact raced up the blond man's arm and pounded in his chest.

"Like this." Adjusting his grip so that he directed the pressure of the blade, Yuri chopped through the rest of the fruit with rapid yet efficient ease. The pieces were of different sizes, but equally suitable for the dish they were preparing—except, of course, that it took far less time.

"It doesn't have to be perfect, Flynn. But it does have to taste good." Yuri met his gaze, smirking. "Let's work on that first, alright?"

"Right. That is a good point."

"Of course it is," said Yuri, then the smirk abruptly faded. "Flynn, listen…about the taverns."

"I'm still going," Flynn said firmly.

"I know. You should. …I know you can take care of yourself, Flynn. Heh. You're better with a sword than I am."

Flynn tilted his head in agreement, provoking a snort of laughter from his friend. "It's Dahngrest, though," Yuri continued more seriously. "You might not be used to this, but you don't exactly have a lot of fans here. So. Don't misunderstand."

Fingers shifted against his skin, and Flynn realized that Yuri's hand had remained atop his as he spoke—well after their task had been completed. At almost the same moment that Flynn noted this, the touch was withdrawn as if it had never been.

Yuri crossed back to the other side of the kitchen, as the oil was apparently ready, and began dropping his dough pieces into the pot. His words lingered in Flynn's mind as he peeled and sectioned one of the oranges. That, at least, had been explained. Yuri didn't want him to have to face the hostility he would be sure to find there. Kind of him, even a bit surprising, but not warranted. Flynn knew he wasn't universally loved, certainly not in a city that separated itself from the Empire.

He glanced over at Yuri, who had taken the fried dough out of the oil and placed them on a piece of absorbent material. Flynn smiled as a thought occurred to him.

"Did someone say something about me?" he asked casually. His friend, who had been dusting his creation with powdered sugar, froze with his hand poised over the dough. When he turned around, he was smiling.

"Guess I can't get anything past you, blondie."

Flynn made a face. "How many times—do you _have_ to call me that?"

Yuri laughed, crossing over to him. "It's because you are." He flicked a lock of hair away from Flynn's eyes, met them with his dark ones for a heartbeat before turning away with that lazy half-smile of his. In the motion, he had also spattered powdered sugar across the blond man's nose. Flynn rolled his eyes as he brushed it off, but internally his reaction was entirely different.

Perhaps it was because the kitchen space was so cramped and warm, but Flynn was seized with the notion of how it would feel to press Yuri against one of the tall, white cabinets and kiss him thoroughly. Caught up in his unrealistic and highly distracting reverie, he bumped his shoulder against a set of copper pans that were hanging nearby.

Yuri, who stood at the sink washing his hands, heard the sudden clatter and looked back at him, eyebrow raised.

"Not a very good place to have these," said Flynn, trying to cover for what he certainly could not tell his friend. Yuri shrugged as he reached for a towel.

This, Flynn thought as he leaned heavily against the counter and stirred the fruit together, was becoming rather serious. Nearly a week had passed since Yuri's unconventional arrival at his quarters in Zaphias, and since that moment Flynn had spent more time in his friend's company than he had in many years. Truthfully, he had been falling for the man for a very long time. It was only recently, though, that he had found himself unable to keep how he felt safely tucked away in the corner of his mind. It refused to be ignored any longer.

The worst part in all this was Yuri himself. He had said Mira declared him difficult to read, and it was true. Flynn would never press the issue unless he thought Yuri might feel the same. The incessant teasing made Flynn wonder sometimes, but he knew him. If Yuri decided something, he acted on it. He either didn't see his friend that way, then, or had some reason to keep it to himself. What the latter could be, Flynn was unable to imagine. The man wasn't an idiot—well, he _was_, but not in the sense that he couldn't figure things out. While the fact that Yuri had read his poetry was still highly embarrassing, Flynn knew that it would have been fairly easy for his friend to see himself in it.

"Finished? Let's take this out to them before the old man starts complaining," said Yuri, holding a tray in one hand and a glass bowl of strawberry jam in the other. Lifting the bowl of fruit salad from the counter, Flynn pushed away the questions. Someday, he hoped, he would know.

After the two men emerged from the kitchen, it did not take long for the food they carried to disappear.

"Oh, these look wonderful," said Judith, reaching for one of Yuri's doughnuts.

"Flynn made the fruit salad," Yuri said as he set the jam on the table. The blond man cringed a little when several faces looked relieved. Unfortunately, he hadn't had the opportunity to learn much this time—other than the quicker-chopping tip, which had been interesting for other reasons entirely. He smiled at Lucas, who had gotten powdered sugar all over himself as he savored his piece of fried dough. The youth caught his look as he took a bite of the fruit, tossing a thumbs-up his way.

The table was largely silent as everyone enjoyed their late breakfast, a welcome break from the morning's intense meeting.

"It's really cool to have everyone here like this," said Karol, grinning. "Just like old times, right?"

"Almost," Yuri reminded him. "It's too bad Estelle's not here. Heh. I still can't believe Flynn and I were the last ones to find out about Tor. She was scared of how we would react, I guess."

Judith wiped her hands delicately on a cloth napkin, looking across the table at him with a sad smile.

"No," she said. "You are not the last."

* * *

A/N: :D ...okay, now I _really_ want a beignet/doughnut. Why do I do this to myself? Hope you all liked this Very Shippery Chapter. There's a lot in here; more than I expected, in fact. *laughs* Enjoy.


	16. Truth

**16. Truth**

Estellise Sidos Heurassein wrapped her fur-lined shawl more tightly around her shoulders. This close to the Blade Drifts of Zopheir, even late winter in Halure could be brutal. Snow crunched beneath her feet as she walked up the hill, a fresh blanket that had fallen the night before and covered the town's famous flower petals. The snow also coated the limbs of the massive tree that sheltered and protected the town, the tree that had been her inspiration in many ways. It was why she had decided to make Halure a home base for her travels as she gathered the stories of the world and made them her own, writing down tales that had been passed down orally for generations. Zaphias was where she grew up, and would always be special, but it also represented being hidden and stifled for most of her young life as a potential heir to the imperial throne. Halure was where Estelle had first learned how to be free.

As she followed the path's curve and approached the clearing in front of the tree, she heard a sneeze, followed quickly by another. Estelle ran over to a huddled, shivering form.

"Rita!" she said in a chiding tone, removing her shawl and settling it around the smaller woman's shoulders. "You're going to catch a cold." The mage was wearing her usual work clothes, festooned with pockets but completely lacking any significant guard against the chill. She rubbed her nose and looked up at Estelle.

"I already did, I think. Um. Thanks." Rita plucked at the velvety gray fabric of the shawl, looking a little embarrassed. "But you shouldn't do that! Now you're gonna be cold. I won't take it." She held it out to Estelle, who raised her hands in refusal, smiling.

"Rrgh, fine," she conceded, wrapping it back around herself grumpily, but Estelle could tell she was grateful. It was just Rita being Rita. She was more than used to it by now.

"What were you doing up here, anyway?" They had started walking back down the hill together. The pleats of Estelle's plum-colored divided skirts brushed together; she had started wearing more travel-friendly clothing after the chaos of the year before had ended. It also helped her stick out less, not wearing the constricting, ostentatious garb of the nobility.

"Isn't it obvious? I was looking at the tree, of course," Rita said. "I'm still trying to figure out exactly how the three trees combined together to form the barrier that protected the town. Things like that… don't usually happen." She looked thoughtful, as usual trying to puzzle out something that didn't fit with the way she thought things were supposed to work.

"I see," Estelle said happily, clasping her hands behind her back. The cold was penetrating the silver-embroidered sleeves of her bodice, but they didn't have much further to walk. She plucked the key from a pouch that was tied at her waist as they approached the door of the house where they were living. Estelle had tried to pay the mayor a monthly fee for its use, but he had insisted on refusing her gald. "There wouldn't _be_ a Halure anymore without you," he had said. She had been forced to accept this, but still felt a little guilty. Once they were inside, she quickly worked to get a fire going as Rita sat in a high-backed chair. Despite her earlier protests, the shawl remained around her arms and shoulders.

"You should change, Rita," Estelle said from where she stoked the flames. "That snow has probably soaked you through where you were kneeling." The fire grew, casting a cozy glow around the room. She stood and faced the young mage, who was blushing fiercely. She never had been able to gracefully accept Estelle's concern and protective nature.

"And then I'll make you some soup!" Estelle added, smiling brightly.

Rita opened her mouth as if to protest, then seemed to think better of it. Rising from the chair, she entered one of the small side rooms that served as her bedroom and study and closed the door.

As Estelle began filling a pot to heat the water in, she thought about her recent trip to the castle. Not long before she found Rita at the tree, Estelle had said goodbye to Tor where he was encamped with his group of knights on the outskirts of town. They had been her escort to and from the city, making sure the young princess was protected in her travels. When Estelle had left him, rising on her toes for one last kiss, he was awaiting orders that would come through Deidon Hold.

In the meantime, Tor had wanted to see the place where she lived, and Estelle was running out of reasons why he shouldn't. Estelle told herself it was motivated by kindness, but deep down she knew she was being cruel and unfair. Guilt gnawed at her—when had she become so dishonest? It was just that no matter how she played it out in her mind, Rita was _always_ hurt.

Ever since their fateful meeting in Aspio all those months ago, the self-proclaimed genius mage had never left Estelle's side, even when it didn't make a lot of sense to stay. They were each other's first female friend, Estelle because of her isolated noble upbringing and Rita because she was a temperamental outsider who had kept herself buried in research. The mage surprised everyone—not least herself—by becoming very protective of Estelle and devoted to their friendship. In everything, Rita did not like to be second best. How would she react to the man who had become so important to her friend?

Estelle sighed, then realized that the water was boiling. As she began making the broth, she shifted her focus to happier things. Like love. Tor was amazing—handsome, brave, kind and gentle. Certainly, Estelle knew he wasn't perfect. Sometimes he could be impulsive and plagued with self doubt. But he was her knight, finally _real _instead of her crushes on the ones she would read about in adventure novels. She giggled softly, remembering. Though there had also, in recent years, been Flynn and Yuri. She had been fascinated by those two—especially Yuri, who was so different from anyone else she had ever met. Once, she had thought she might love him. And one night, everything shifted.

* * *

They had been only days away from a confrontation with the Adephagos, and the air seemed to hum with tension and energy. It was keeping Estelle awake. She squirmed beneath the blankets, shifted to her other side. Finally, she huffed with frustration and slid out of bed, careful not to disturb Rita's sleeping form. The young mage was muttering something angry sounding about blastia formulas which quickly degenerated into gibberish. Repede lifted his head from where he was curled up by the door, watching Estelle as she left.

She kept her footfalls soft as she passed the boys' room, hearing Raven's snores reverberating through the hallway. It was time for some fresh air. Outside the inn, the moon was rising, full and breathtakingly beautiful against the field of stars. The group of friends had gone to bed fairly early, physically spent from endless battles and trips from city to city. Estelle couldn't even remember how many times they had stayed at this particular inn over the past few months. All the times that they visited each city or town were starting to blur together, something she could never have foreseen considering how sheltered the first eighteen years of her life had been.

"Couldn't sleep?" A familiar, deep voice to her left made Estelle jump. Turning, she found Yuri sitting on a low, stone wall near the inn. She shook her head.

"Yeah, me neither." He patted a space on the wall next to him with one hand, and she walked over and pulled herself up. They returned to their own thoughts, gazing out into the darkness. This early in the evening, there were still a few people walking the streets. Several nodded to the pair as they passed the inn.

Estelle considered Yuri. He was so different than Flynn, and in some ways exactly the same. They both lived for justice, for protecting the innocent and punishing the deserving. They just went about it in different ways. Yuri was intense and unpredictable, Flynn kind-hearted and ambitious. Yuri, though, refused to be pinned down. Estelle wondered so many things about him; she wanted to know him completely.

"Yuri?" she said.

"Hm?"

"What do you think of me?" She asked the question so quietly that she wasn't sure if he had heard her, but he responded almost instantly.

"What do you mean? You're Estelle. Spoiled princess extraordinaire."

"Stop it," she said, punching him lightly in the shoulder. He grabbed it and yelped in mock pain.

"You're spending too much time around Rita," he teased.

"Please," she said. She drew her legs up onto the wall, hugging her knees. This was something that she truly needed to know.

Yuri shrugged, rolling his shoulders casually.

"What do you expect me to say?"

"Do you wish I was more like Judith?" she asked, looking down at her feet. The Krityan was a good friend, but Estelle couldn't help but feel inadequate sometimes looking at her well-placed curves and beautiful features. When Judith walked by, men stopped and stared. When Estelle walked by? They wanted to be healed, or to meet the princess. It was different.

"What? No way. If you were Judith, you wouldn't be Estelle," Yuri said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. Estelle sighed, gathering up her courage.

"You've had a lot of girlfriends, haven't you?" She looked at him from the corner of her eye.

"My, aren't you full of questions today," he said, placing his hands behind his head and leaning against a tree that was growing behind the wall. He closed his eyes before he responded. "Sure. I've had a few."

"Yuri…" Estelle said, haltingly. "What do you look for in a girl?"

Yuri laughed then, a short one that he coughed out as if he had been punched in the stomach and found it hilarious. Estelle felt her cheeks heating up.

"I-I mean, I know you said you don't want someone like Raven, but is there anything else?"

"I think that pretty much says it all." He crossed his arms, smirking. She shook her head vigorously, the pale pink strands streaming from side to side. Neither of them said anything for a moment. Yuri brought one leg up to rest on the wall, placed his hands on his knee. He was facing Estelle, now, but she kept her gaze stubbornly fixed on the ground.

"You want to know for a reason," he said, not asking a question. She swallowed, nodded once. He let out a breath, and she wished that she could decipher the emotion attached to it. Frustration? Regret? She felt his fingers on her chin, which he lifted so that she would look directly into his dark eyes. At the moment, those eyes were very serious. Her breath quickened.

"Estelle," he said. "I'm going to tell you a secret, but you might not like it very much."

She nodded again, and Yuri withdrew his touch. She sat there while he told her everything. She sat there while he said that she was like his little sister, tried to fight back the tears stinging her eyes. But then he surprised her. It was like a confession, like he was relieving himself of a burden. For that night, he let down his normally impenetrable defenses. She wished it could be for her, but was still captivated by the intensity of feeling that he showed.

"I know it's not what you wanted," he said, after.

Estelle waved away his attempts at indirect apology. He had been able to tell her, which was such an incredible honor. Her heart, freshly pained as it was at the moment, would mend. Yuri stood, dusting off his pants and extending a hand to Estelle so that she could hop off the wall.

"Man, it's late," he said, peering up into the darkness and noting the moon's position. "I've been talking your ear off. We should get back to the inn."

As he turned to walk in that direction, Estelle grabbed his arm with both hands.

"I'm rooting for you, Yuri!" Her cheeks were still red, her eyes glazed with unshed tears, but she poured all the enthusiasm that she could muster into the statement.

Yuri smiled down at her. "Are you?" he said, voice detached and amused. And then he tilted his face to the sky, his laughter ringing in the cold night air.

* * *

Estelle smiled at the memory as she stirred the pot of soup. She wondered what kind of luck she must have, that the one of the first two men that she fell for would end up being in love with the other. She and Yuri became much closer after that night, if not in the way she had originally hoped. At some point during their travels, he had stopped seeing her as a naïve little princess, and drew her in as a confidante.

She jumped at a sudden knock at the door, rising from her spot before the hearth to answer it.

"Stella," said Tor, a bit breathlessly. He looked as if he had run the entire way up the hilly paths from Halure's main entrance. Estelle froze, her hand still clutching the doorknob.

"The mayor told me where you lived," he explained. "Um, can I come in?"

Well, she wasn't going to turn him away; it was her own fault that she had ended up in this situation, after all. Estelle smiled.

"Yes," she said.

Tor grinned as he stepped inside, glancing around the building's interior.

"Something smells delicious."

"It's soup. I'm making it for Rita." Estelle bent over the pot to check the tenderness of the vegetables she had added.

"Oh, is she here? I'd love to meet her."

She nodded, trying to hide how the hand that clutched the wooden spoon was trembling. Behind her, Tor explored the main room, admiring the overflowing bookshelves and the various items that the two young women had collected in their travels. He stopped at a heavy wooden desk scattered with papers and piles of books, running his hand along it.

"Is this where you do your thing?" he asked, winking at Estelle. She flushed, nodding. The desk was one of her favorite places, with a large window set above it that looked out over the town and a comfortable, cushioned chair for those long writing sessions. It was old, weathered, and had a feeling of history, much like the tales she discovered and reimagined.

He picked up one of the papers and she gasped, rushing over.

"Don't _read_ that," she scolded. "It's not finished yet." Estelle grabbed for the paper, but he held it just out of her reach.

"Oh, really? Are you sure?"

"Tor! Please, give it back." She raised her voice insistently as she tried to get it away from him, but by now she was laughing, and so was he. When a nearby door creaked open, neither of them noticed.

"Someone mind telling me what's going on?"

In the doorway, Rita stared at them with a bland expression. Estelle stepped back from Tor, releasing her hold on his tunic where she had been stretching up to retrieve her unfinished story page. As soon he noticed Rita standing there, Tor walked over.

"You must be Rita. It's so good to meet you. Tor Altiren, Lion Blade of the Imperial Knights." He held out a hand of greeting and Rita took it loosely, but her eyes met his with suspicion and obvious confusion.

Despite the awkward situation, Estelle felt a swell of pride as Tor gave his new title. With Sodia as Commandant, Flynn dismissed from the Knights, and Leblanc severely injured, it had been necessary to promote some of the other knights into a higher rank. The ceremony had been a long one, but meant that Tor would have a larger group of men beneath him and more responsibilities.

"And you're here because…?" Rita crossed her arms.

Tor blinked, looking a bit uncertain. You didn't have to spend much time around Rita to find out she was unapologetically blunt about things.

"That's right," said Estelle, forcing cheer into her voice. "What brings you here in such a hurry, Tor?"

His expression cleared as he remembered his purpose. "The messenger arrived not long after you left camp. They're sending us to Dahngrest."

Estelle choked back what nearly sprang from her lips: that far? Rita still watched them carefully.

"We will be helping with the extremist situation there. I don't know when we'll be back."

Estelle nodded, started to turn away, and then took in a breath.

"I'm going with you," she said, firmly and defiantly. Estelle wasn't sure at what moment she had decided; she only knew in her heart that she must. It had been tumbling around in her mind for a while, since the explosion and Flynn and the look of determination on her friends' faces in the garden.

Tor rocked back on his heels a little, taken aback. "Stella," he said, frowning, and behind her Rita made a small, half-strangled sound. Estelle bit her lip. "I'm not sure that's a good—"

"It's very important," she said. "My friends need me. I don't want to wonder if they're okay, when I know I can help them."

She stood her ground, and finally Tor laughed, shaking his head.

"I can never argue with you when you've got that stubborn look in your eyes. Alright, but you'd better start packing. We leave within the hour." Flashing a grin and still laughing softly, he squeezed her shoulder briefly as he headed for the door.

And then it was only her and Rita. Estelle cleared her throat lightly, stepping over to the kitchen for a bowl to ladle the soup into.

"You know I'm coming too, right?"

Estelle looked back at Rita from the hearth, smiling as she straightened. Her friend still had her arms crossed, however.

"That's wonderful. I hoped you would," she said, and meant. Handing the bowl to Rita, she pulled out a chair at the table for her to sit. But the mage held the spoon in her hands, looking at it as if she wasn't entirely sure what to do with it. She set it down beside the bowl of soup.

"Estelle, who was that guy?" Her green eyes bore into Estelle's, and possible answers flashed through her mind. No one. Just a knight escorting her. A friend. A _very_ good friend. She couldn't say any of these things, not and be able to continue looking Rita in the eye, not and be able to make any claim of friendship.

"An important person," she said, when she found the courage. "He's my boyfriend, Rita."

* * *

A/N: Y-you guys, Judith was sad on Rita's behalf, not her own. *laughs* Hmm, I didn't foresee that interpretation of her cryptic comment. No, Judith isn't in love with Estelle in this story or anything. On the other hand, I am leaving it largely up to individual interpretation as to _Rita_'s feelings for Estelle. Whether you think she has a crush on her or just a bit awkward/clingy with her first real friend, my plan at this point is to let Rita be herself and leave it at that. :)

(Also, don't be mistaken by thinking that Yuri told Estelle he was specifically _in love with_ Flynn. Haha. That's her own interpretation, because she's kind of the 'hopeless romantic' type. :D)


	17. Insight

**17. Insight**

Mira sat before a large mirror, brushing out her thick red hair. She smiled into the reflective glass as she slowly pulled a wide-toothed comb through the strands. The nightly ritual had a calming influence, winding her down from the myriad affairs of Liberty's Fist that occupied her mind during the day. Stroke after stroke, until her thoughts stopped racing in a hundred different directions.

A dark figure walked up behind her, seeming to materialize out of the gloom. With a small, sharp gasp, Mira pulled her dressing gown more tightly around herself, holding it closed at her neck in a white-knuckled fist. A moment later, she relaxed her hand and tossed her hair back haughtily.

"Must your entrances always be so dramatic?"

The Nameless One stood inhumanly still, that faceless visage hovering above Mira's shoulders. She suppressed a shudder. Its presence felt wrong, as if made of oily grime and violence.

"Apologies, Lady Mira," the raspy voice intoned. They all sounded the same; sexless, emotionless. "And congratulations."

Mira's brow furrowed in confusion, which she quickly smoothed. Mustn't encourage wrinkles, after all. _Congratulations_—a positive word, by and large, but she had heard the Nameless possessed a rather sadistic sense of humor. Idly, she wondered if that could be some reflection of their master.

"Hm. Care to elaborate? Or are we speaking in riddles tonight, as well."

The Nameless tilted its head a fraction. "He is pleased by what you have done here. You will be richly rewarded."

Well, that sounded promising. Though at times it could be frustrating working for an organization whose leader remained unseen and unknown, it was nonetheless gratifying to see one's work for the cause recognized. Mira's lips curved into a smile, despite her unpleasant company.

"I assume that the purpose of your visit is not to stroke my ego," she said blandly, setting her comb on the vanity before turning to face the messenger.

"No," it said. "Your first reward is a mission of great importance. He knows that you will not fail him."

Mira listened, and her smile grew with every rasping word.

* * *

Jerod Kaufman met with them in a private side room of the tavern, the obvious tension in his movements radiating suspicion. He took a hard look at Flynn, puffy eyes squinting in the candlelight. After a moment, he shook his head, indicating that his visitors should sit. It was a small victory for Flynn. It seemed that for some in Dahngrest, seeing the Empire's former Commandant in casual attire was unusual enough that they were unable to make the connection. A vaguely familiar face, and nothing more.

"Now," said Jerod as he poured a generous splash of dark brown liquor from a decanter behind his desk, "what was it that you wanted to know about my Mirabel? We haven't spoken to each other, oh, going on three years now, mind you."

Flynn adjusted his elbow into a more comfortable position on the arm of his cushioned chair. Mirabel, was it? At least he and Judith had found out she had not been using an alias with Yuri—a diminutive, perhaps, but her real name more or less. Already this visit had been worthwhile.

"Are you aware of what she has been involved in?" asked Flynn.

One could easily miss the slight tremor in the man's hand as he lifted his glass from the table, the liquid sloshing up on one side. He drained its contents before he spoke.

"I hear things." His lips pressed into a thin line, and Flynn worried that they had hit a barrier in their questioning. It was easy to imagine why he would avoid speaking of his estranged daughter to just anyone.

"She is in danger," said Judith.

It was a slightly misleading statement, as Mira likely _caused _many of the dangerous situations, but they sought this man's help. Sympathy was an important tool to that end.

Jerod chuckled. "Is she, now. Yes, I'm sure you strangers are extremely concerned about her wellbeing. Let us dispense with these games, hm? They give me a headache."

Flynn flinched. The man was regarding them with a sardonic amusement; they may have misjudged him. Mira had to inherit her sharp intellect from somewhere, and here was the man who managed a large portion of Dahngrest's often volatile taverns. His eyes darted between them impatiently.

"There is little love for the Empire in this city," Flynn began, and Jerod snorted. "However, they and the Union exist in unison, benefiting from each other's existence. You are a man of business. Surely you understand the potential repercussions of what the extremists are trying to accomplish."

Jerod folded his hands atop his desk, nodding gravely. Taking down the entire Imperial system meant economic collapse, as well. Instability. Uncertainty. While few citizens of Dahngrest wished to connect themselves with a political entity that they found corrupt and inadequate, most realized that an aggressive, all-out revolution would likely result in far too much chaos. It was why the extremists carried that name, even in the guilds' city.

"I do," he said. "But you need to understand something as well. If Mira is truly involved in something so dangerous and terrible, it's important that you know something about her."

Judith and Flynn exchanged a look as they waited for Jerod to speak. When he did, his voice sounded distant, a bit weary.

"You will never find what I am about to tell you among the Imperial records, because I had them all purged. It is just as true, make no mistake." He stabbed a thick finger at them, eyes narrowed. "As you both know well, the last Emperor's death meant a new candidate must be selected—two of them, because of the conflicting interests of the Knights and the Council."

That much was common knowledge throughout the world. Flynn nodded, encouraging the man to continue.

"The Knights chose young Master Ioder, known for displaying wisdom that belied his years. The Council selected an equally young noble woman, someone they wished to mold and shape to their own designs."

"Lady Estellise," said Flynn, softly. She had been locked up in the castle for most of her life, her only knowledge of the outside world from the books in the library. Despite her sheltered upbringing, Estellise was uncommonly kind-hearted and generous, traits that Flynn doubted the Council had anything to do with.

"Mm. Estellise is the young lady that was ultimately selected, yes." Jerod steepled his fingers, tapped them together. "But she was not their first choice. Mira was."

The room was silent as Flynn worked through the man's explosive statement. If he was telling the truth, then Mira had almost been in Estellise's place, while Flynn's friend would have been just another young noble. It was, in fact, quite possible he would have never met her, and she wouldn't have been there to warn him—an entire chain of events leading from her presence in the castle flashed through his mind.

"What changed?" Judith was saying. Flynn took a breath, forcing himself back into the present.

"She was still a minor," said Jerod, shrugging his wide shoulders. "I said no. It was met with considerable opposition, of course—things became quite ugly as they tried to get their hands on her." His mouth twisted angrily.

"So you brought your family to Dahngrest," said Judith. "I see."

The man nodded slowly. "And you can also see why Mira was none too pleased with my decision. She withdrew until… things became like this. I don't know all of what she's gotten herself involved with. Don't even know if she can be helped anymore. I'm only telling you this because even when she hates me, Mirabel is _my_ daughter: stubborn, ambitious and not to be underestimated. Never."

Jerod stood and stepped out from behind his desk, indicating their visit was over. He took in both man and Krityan with one intense, sweeping gaze.

"Tread lightly."

* * *

On the way back to Brave Vesperia headquarters, the wind kicked up and the air smelled like another storm was on its way. Dahngrest's rainy season—sometimes difficult to distinguish, considering how much rainfall the region received throughout the year—was swiftly approaching, with the first day of spring just around the corner. Severe tropical storms often developed off the coast, which meant increased cooperation was necessary to protect the city from high winds and flooding. Flynn held out a hand, felt the prick of scattered raindrops on his palm.

"It's kind of fascinating, really," said Judith, not at all referring to the weather. "What might have been."

"Yes," said Flynn, having thought much the same himself. His attempts to imagine the past few years if Mira had been the Council's candidate for Empress only continued once he and Judith had exited the establishment.

"More importantly," he continued, "is what this means for Mira's motivations in the Dahngrest extremist cell. Perhaps we can use this information to our advantage."

"I hope so." The smooth tones of her voice were rather somber, but when Judith turned to him, she smiled. "I would say our meeting was successful, though. Shall we tell Yuri that no one touched a hair on your pretty golden head?"

When Flynn coughed in surprise, Judith laughed.

"I think he really was worried about that," she mused. "That boy can't stand the thought of anyone not adoring you as much as he does."

Flynn's step faltered—he shot Judith a sideways glance, frowning. "I'm sorry?"

He wished that the Krityan woman would stop with those secretive smiles. They hardly spoke to each other in private like this, but she seemed determined to fluster him. Sometimes he thought she and Yuri were far too much alike, in some rather disturbing ways. She made a soft _tsk_ingnoise.

"It's wasted on both of you. Honestly."

"Um. I really don't know—"

"Hmm, is that so?" She stepped lightly forward until she stood in front of Flynn, leaning close to his face. He swallowed at her sudden proximity. What was _with_ this woman?

"Breakfast was lovely the other day, by the way," said Judith, as if she hadn't just been saying absurd things and invading Flynn's personal space.

"Thank you. Ah, Yuri cooked most of it." Flynn scrubbed a hand through his hair. They were almost back to headquarters, he realized with an odd sense of relief. He could see the building just up the street, but Judith wasn't making any move to let him pass.

"If you have something to say," said Flynn, eyes narrowing, "then please just say it."

"Aw. But that's no fun." Her lips turned in a subtle pout.

That settled it. Besides perhaps a more delicate, refined way of speaking, Judith was officially Yuri Lowell with antennae and breasts. Which was…unspeakably strange on multiple levels. No wonder she and his friend got along so well. Flynn glared at her, and she let out a small, defeated sigh.

"Is everything okay?"

Flynn whirled around, half expecting Yuri to have stumbled upon them—but that wasn't his voice. Lucas stood behind him, arms crossed as he regarded the standoff. Flynn relaxed until he realized that Judith was smirking in a delighted and absolutely terrifying way.

"Oh, yes. Actually, Lucas, I'm glad you're here. Flynn and I were just about to have a little chat."

"About what?"

"Yuri." Judith winked at the youth, and a wide grin split his face.

"Ohh."

The wind whipped more fiercely than before, yet heat gathered under Flynn's collar. Judith slipped her arm around his and led him toward HQ, with Lucas trailing behind.

"He was right," she said, patting his cheek. "It _is_ awfully easy."

* * *

Either Flynn Scifo was the most transparent person in the world, or he had fallen in with some of the most perceptive. For the sake of his own sanity, he liked to believe the latter. Over the next few minutes, he tried to regain control over the situation, but he was starting to believe that Judith was a mad woman. And Lucas? He was her accomplice.

"I fail to see the point of this. Don't we have more important things to worry about?" he said firmly, seated on the edge of one of the lounge's armchairs. "The looming threat of terrorism against the Empire comes to mind."

"Of course," said Judith, and Flynn lifted an eyebrow in surprise. "Hm, let's see. Raven and Karol are watching and gathering information at the estate, are they not?"

"And Yuri's at the library," added Lucas. "You two just got back from the taverns, and it seems like you learned something pretty important about Mira. I never knew _any_ of that."

Judith, seated beside the teen on a couch across from Flynn, gave a slight nod. "So, you were saying?"

Flynn grimaced and wondered how he managed to get dragged into these situations. The world, it seemed, liked throwing people at him who enjoyed pushing his buttons. Not to mention the fact that he had a feeling they had decided to delve into very personal matters for someone they hardly knew very well.

"What is it that you want?" said Flynn, shrugging helplessly.

"Oh, nothing. You should relax." The Krityan made it sound so easy. "Subtlety hasn't worked; I really should have known. You're both so awfully stubborn." She tapped her lips with a finger.

"I tried, too," said Lucas, frowning—an expression Flynn had seen less and less since they had taken him from the extremists in Zaphias.

"I'd like it very much," said Flynn, slowly, "if one of you would speak plainly."

Lucas grinned, looking a bit apologetic. "We know you're in love with Yuri."

Um.

"Actually, it was kind of obvious. To me, anyway," he quickly added, holding out his hands. "I'm sure it's not to everyone or anything."

Had he just—

"Like with the cooking thing, you just looked really sad. And I could see how you looked at him, but I wasn't sure…so I asked Judith, and it turns out she thought so, too."

Somehow, Flynn found his voice. "That isn't…any of your business."

"Oh," Judith said coolly, "were you planning on doing anything about it?"

This was completely absurd. He wasn't a hormonal teenager—being confronted about who he liked felt a bit juvenile. Yet in the back of his mind, Judith's words made a sort of sense. His hesitation about his feelings toward Yuri was just as childish, considering how strong and insistent they had become. Some things, it seemed, never changed all that much.

"I'm probably going to regret asking this," said Flynn, "but did you have something in mind?"

The twin, sly smiles that Lucas and Judith exchanged would fuel the blond man's nightmares; of that much, he was certain.

* * *

A/N: So, a bit of a longer gap between chapters than normal, but there are two reasons for that: 1. There were more updates close together in the past week or so. ;) This one ended up being a little more difficult to write. 2. I got in the mood for writing some rather fluffy, unrelated Yuri/Flynn oneshots. They're at my new writing journal, on LiveJournal. (Username sberrychampagne. I've also added a link to it on my profile, under the Homepage section.) My multichapter fics will keep updating here, but shorter works will likely be there for the time being. So if you wish to read them, watch that space. *grins* Feel free to comment; if you don't have an LJ, anonymous commenting is also enabled. (Hopefully this is allowed—all my stories are and will be under cuts with proper ratings.)


	18. Bare

**18. Bare**

The scattered clouds above Flynn's head, seen hazily through his lashes, shredded and dissolved into blue as they moved across the sky. He pressed his eyes shut, reveled in the feeling of fingernails raking through his hair, sending the nerves in his scalp into a pleasant buzz. When he looked up again, the clouds were gone but a face leaning over him had replaced them. Warm brown eyes. Jagged, sandy bangs. A mild, uncomplicated smile.

Not who he expected, Flynn thought idly, but that was alright. The sensation of those tanned fingers moving through the strands, smoothing them back along his temples, created an amazingly peaceful moment that he hated to break. Yet he felt compelled to, like an intense desire to tell him something that had been left unsaid. He opened his mouth to speak just as the nails' pressure increased to the point of discomfort.

"Tomas." Flynn pulled his head away from where it had rested in his lap, and in the next moment had an elbow propped on his knee as he scowled up at him.

"You're never here," said the young man who shouldn't have been there, apropos of nothing. "Always somewhere else to be."

"I'm here now."

"No," he said. "You're not." And somehow, impossible yet inescapable, it was true. It _felt_ true, so Flynn could only give a solemn nod as answer.

They stood on a hill and Tomas's face was cold, made up of shadows and harsh edges. The sky had gotten darker without warning. Peace abandoned them.

"You look the same," said Flynn, his voice desperately reaching out across the chasm. Why did he look the same?

Tomas sneered. "You look old." Like a splash of ice water.

"I'm only…" How old _was_ he? Flynn shook his head, frowning.

The other man tilted his head and it reminded Flynn achingly of Yuri. _Yuri_. What was Flynn doing here with this ghost? Suddenly he felt an incongruous stab of guilt. This was followed by anger, mostly at himself.

"You never were able to say it," Tomas was saying, more venomous than Flynn had ever heard him. He didn't need to ask what he meant. "It's a little unfair, don't you think? The Knights got more of you than I ever did."

Flynn squeezed his eyes shut. Wasn't it true? Don't listen to him. Darkness.

He was running, breath heaving, limbs heavy. The hill was gone, replaced by a forest of evergreens. A branch slapped him across the arm, but bounced off his armor, harmless. The trees grew thick here. Panic seized Flynn's chest, driving him forward and away from some nameless thing that would catch him if he stumbled or stopped for even a moment. He charged blindly through the underbrush.

It was difficult to tell how long he ran—it felt like ages, but time didn't seem to matter here. Light appeared from somewhere up ahead, and before Flynn could blink he burst out of the trees. A shallow bowl-shaped field, surrounded by forest, stretched out before him. He walked forward, cautiously, until he stood in the center of the depression. The feeling of being chased had vanished, though his chest still felt too tight, constricted by more than just protective cloth and metal.

Icy fear prickled on the back of his neck when a keening howl sounded in the distance. Flynn whirled in a circle, eyes darting from one spot in the trees to another—there was nowhere to hide, out here. They came. Wolf-like monsters, slinking into the tall grass of the field. They approached from every direction and padded softly, swiftly toward Flynn. Retreat, if he could find an opening, meant going back into the dark woods, where _it_ waited. He took a defensive stance, sliding his sword free of its scabbard. There were too many, Flynn knew, but he would fight.

When the first creatures arrived, springing at him with bared white teeth, he was ready. His sword sliced cleanly through flesh and wiry fur. Gritting his teeth with determination, he faced wave after wave—they never seemed to flag or tire, and neither did he. In fact, Flynn's energy seemed only to increase with the razor-edged thrill that fighting inspired. No more fear, no uncomfortable tension. He started to smile.

And Yuri was there beside him. Of course he was. He had been there the whole time, he had just arrived—it didn't matter. Even if they fought forever like this. Two wolves seemed to replace each one defeated, but despair had no place between them.

"Behind you," said Flynn, and Yuri twisted sideways, plunging his sword into a wolf who had been about to leap at his neck. He tossed a grateful smirk Flynn's way before dashing off to take down another monster, while his friend faced his own target. It was a larger wolf than the rest, he realized—the alpha? Its coal-black eyes bore into his, an unmistakable challenge.

This fight would not be like the rest. Uncertainty trickled back into Flynn's mind and he pushed it away, or tried to. Hadn't he faced things far worse than this? It was just a beast, driven by instinct and hunger. It did not know complex strategy or how to predict an opponent's moves. The wolf's advantages could only lie in its speed and brute strength. Fangs and claws could not match a master swordsman.

Yet there was always an element of risk, of luck. As Flynn and the wolf circled each other, he felt beads of sweat forming on his skin. It was too hot, the armor stifling him with every heavy-booted step and creaking movement of knees and elbows. He needed freedom, even if it meant losing that protection—every ounce robbed him of precious speed. It could mean his defeat, in the end.

He rushed forward with a shout, propelled toward the thick-furred creature—wasn't it warm, too?—as he carried his sword defensively before him. The first blow sheared through fur but failed to break the skin. He danced away, and spotted Yuri making his way back across the field. The other wolves had gone. It was just the three beings, allies and foe, a final and decisive confrontation.

Flynn's sword pricked the alpha as Yuri arrived and it snarled at him, low and primal. Claws swept out toward him, scraping across his leg in shallow red lines. He winced, retreating to his friend's side. As he clamped down on the pain and prepared his next move, Flynn looked over. Yuri's eyes laughed at him.

What is it, he wanted to say, but couldn't. The sun beat down on his skin, drying the sweat and drawing out more in the same moment. Skin. Where had his armor—ah, there was that panic again. Flynn's heart thundered in his chest, but the wolf grew impatient and leapt toward them, and he had no choice but to fight. All other concerns would have to be swept aside until this was over.

He tried to stay on one side of the creature, away from Yuri, but in a battle this swiftly became a futile, impractical gesture. Flynn brought his sword down across the alpha's back, evoking a startled yelp but barely slowing it. He tried to sharpen his focus, where nothing mattered but planning the next attack, but his thoughts kept up a frenzied chant in the back of his mind: _I'm naked I'm naked and fighting naked and Yuri doesn't even seem to care but he's so damn smug about everything and stars above he can see me and I don't want to be killed by this wolf naked because how would that look so undignified and absurd and wasn't I wearing armor before?_

Well, he could pretend. Nothing unusual here, just another battle—slice here, stab there, get some distance, _think_.

The wound on his leg stung. It helped him focus, a little. The wolf tossed its head, seeming to dare the two men to do their worst. Blood matted its fur, slick and shining. It bore down on its haunches, watching them. Yuri slipped around behind the monster, a blur of motion, and Flynn was transfixed by his fluid grace once more. As the wolf finally backed off to lick its wounds, Yuri followed, disappearing into tall grass that browned and wilted in the oppressive heat. They had to defeat it here, in this moment_._ They could not let the beast regain its strength.

Flynn stared into the grass where Yuri and the wolf had vanished. This was his fight too. It had begun with him; it was his to see through to the end. He started running, unwilling to lose them. When he arrived at the end of the trampled path and his gaze settled on their stand-off, Flynn's mouth went dry.

Light reflected off Yuri's sword, glinting points of white on the deadly steel. It cast a subtle glow that followed veins and tendons that ran along bare, lightly toned arms, cast shadows across his neck and shoulders. Yuri dashed forward and as the shaggy beast threw clods of dirt and grass into the air in its frenzy to meet him, swung wide and drove his sword arm toward the alpha's belly. Flynn heard it howl but his eyes, his entire focus, was on the tensed shoulder blades and lines of muscle visible just beneath the surface of Yuri's back.

The alpha wolf slumped and was still. Casual as ever, Yuri wiped his sword on the monster's fur to remove most of the blood, used his other hand to toss hair back over his shoulders. He swung his head toward Flynn, a grin springing readily into place—his eyes were mirthful, but no longer mocking. The two of them were the same now, sun warm on their skin. Yuri put his sword away, began to walk toward him in the grass, and…

A door banged shut. The forest faded from existence.

* * *

The disoriented, muddy feeling of being jolted out of a deep sleep faded quickly, flooding Flynn's mind with almost nostalgic emotion in that strange place between dreaming and wakefulness. His eyes blinked open, the weight of blankets and sight of a room still somewhat unfamiliar to him becoming his reality once more. And then the dream rushed back, almost all at once.

Flynn groaned, flinging an arm over his face. After a moment, he smiled tightly in disbelief at himself and laughed a little, embarrassed. There had been many dreams of wearing his armor, lately—his unconscious mind had yet to adjust to the change, it seemed—but this was the first in a while where he had worn nothing at all. That he could remember, anyway. As for Yuri, that was a new one, as far as dreams went. It was not as if they lacked material from his subconscious, though.

He shook the thoughts away, focusing on other things. It had all been so incredibly vivid, yet also unreal. And Tomas had been there, Flynn suddenly remembered. He let out a sharp breath through his nose. Where had that one been dredged up from, and why now? Flynn had met him shortly after Yuri left the Imperial Knights—Tomas's sister had been abducted and Flynn had been one of the knights sent to intervene. She was recovered unharmed, delivered home personally by Flynn, who somehow ended up leaving with a promise to her older brother that he would come by the next time he was off duty.

On some level, he used Tomas to cope with Yuri's absence—Flynn knew that. It felt good to be wanted, a welcome distraction from the constant demands of others. But those demands came first, always. And how could he explain to Tomas, comfortable and mild, that sometimes he just wanted to shout and roll his eyes and be understood? It was madness and unfair to someone who cared for him, but so obviously destined to crumble. So he sabotaged it and stayed away, like a coward, until it finally did. Flynn hadn't seen him since.

He flopped onto his back, not wanting to face his failings at the moment. The rest of the dream still lingered in his mind, prodding at him until he gave in. For his part, it was embarrassing, but Yuri…

The images, mental constructs though they may have been, were definitely appealing, but in the end Flynn found them pointless—not to mention frustrating. Jaw clenched, he sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, ran his hands through hair he knew would be hopelessly disordered. Then he rose, stretched a bit before setting off to prepare for a new day.

Once he had showered and dressed, Flynn felt much better, more confident and collected. It was still fairly early in the morning; most of the others seemed to still be sleeping, though the sound that had awoken him suggested at least one other early riser. He took the stairs quietly, heading for the kitchen—he had become familiar enough with it in the past few days that he should be able to scrounge up a little something to eat for breakfast.

Hands in pockets, he strode into the dining room and caught a faint, wordless tune floating in from the open door of the kitchen. As he neared, the song stopped and restarted, a lilting melody from a lovely voice. Words were added in a language Flynn was unfamiliar with, soft and sibilant, somehow melancholic. He entered the room to find Judith stirring a pot, song rising with the steam and a scent of sugared fruit. She didn't turn, so Flynn leaned against the counter behind her, listening until the thread of melody faded again.

"That's beautiful," he said.

Judith tilted her head to look at him, smiling. "My mother sang it to me when I was a little girl."

"Mm. It's very calming."

"Indeed," she said, turning back to the stove and lightly stirring a few more times before she spoke again. "You're up early. Trouble sleeping?"

Flynn smiled wryly and shook his head. "The opposite, actually."

Judith looked back again, arching a brow. "Oh?"

Should he just leave it at that? For some reason, part of Flynn wanted to tell her—wanted to tell _someone_, and Judith already knew how he felt about Yuri, after all. The Krityan woman still watched him. He let out a breath, eyes drifting out the small window where what little light that escaped Dahngrest's cloud cover streamed into the kitchen, and began to talk.

Flynn didn't include every detail, only what seemed most important—unfortunately, this included at least a mention of his and Yuri's state of undress. He made the mistake of glancing over at Judith, her lips curved knowingly, and the small kitchen's warmth made it all too easy for heat to creep up into his face.

By the time he had recounted the dream, Judith had spooned out some oats into a bowl and set it before him on the counter, topped with the sweet stewed fruit. She leaned on the opposite side, listening, not making a sound or comment until Flynn had finished.

"Do you wish my opinion?" she asked, to Flynn's surprise. He had expected a more teasing response, which made him wonder why he had thought it a good idea to tell Judith in the first place.

Flynn considered this, then briefly inclined his head. "If you want to give it."

"Hmm. Nudity can be quite liberating, but your embarrassment speaks of a more…vulnerable state, I think."

This made sense. Flynn thought he could have made such a connection himself, if he had stopped to examine it. The events of the past couple of weeks certainly gave him plenty of reasons for vulnerability. He nodded.

"And this Tomas. You worry that you will repeat the same mistakes with Yuri, yes?"

Well, now that Judith said that—wasn't that the reason Tomas had invaded his dreams, after spending so long _not_ thinking about him? Flynn brought a hand up to his forehead, staring at the floor.

"Flynn." He looked back up. "Are your feelings for Yuri the same as with Tomas?"

Oh. "No," he said, quietly. There was no comparison. That was part of the reason this whole thing was so terrifying. He smiled wanly at Judith, understanding that she was trying to reassure him, in her way. She was, Flynn realized, a truly good friend—to both of them. And then she smiled back, wickedly.

"Tonight," she said. "Be ready. And don't worry, Lucas and I will handle everything."

Suddenly, Flynn remembered why he found the Krityan so unsettling.

* * *

They should have made more progress by now. Something would have to change— simply keeping watch on the Dahngrest cell hadn't yielded the kind of results that they had hoped for. Sure, they had gotten a good feel for the patterns and schedules of the extremists in the city, and for approximately how many of them there were, but there was only so much sitting and waiting that Yuri was willing to do before it become more than he could stand. If they could just sneak in somehow, find some papers or make someone talk—

"Uh, Yuri?"

His gaze refocused on the youth who sat across from him. He and Lucas had been assigned to watch the estate from a safe distance; normally, Raven and Karol took that post, but the old man's oddly sensitive stomach had acted up and taken him out of the running for the morning's activities. So he had claimed, loudly, to anyone within earshot.

"What is it, Luc?"

"You're doing that thing with your eyes again. It's freaking me out."

"What thing?"

Lucas let out a breath, and Yuri smirked at the near-perfect imitation of Flynn's exasperated sighs. It made him want to ruffle the kid's hair, but he remembered enough about being on the cusp of adolescence to know how well that would be received. Well, unless the ruffler looked like Judy.

"Where you're glowering with your eyes half-shut like you want to murder someone." Lucas rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous gesture. "_That_ thing."

Well, that couldn't be entirely ruled out, Yuri thought grimly. In fact, on one of those occasions the target was the person who had murdered Lucas's parents. Huh. He thought he would keep that fact to himself, though. Sure, the kid would be grateful, but that hadn't exactly been Yuri's finest hour. He wasn't in it for the pats on the back.

"Sorry. Can't say that I've looked in the mirror when I do that." He tried to relax a bit, though tension remained bunched up in his shoulders. They both returned their attention to the estate, which had been quiet for most of the day. Many of the extremists had jobs, of course—they couldn't just hole up in their fancy hideout all the time. People came and went, most frequently in the afternoons and evenings when the city streets had the most traffic. Some, the guild had learned from their monitoring, were regulars, while others seemed to be one-time visitors, perhaps from a different cell or even unattached to their cause. Yuri hoped that the detailed report they had compiled of these people in the past week would prove useful later on.

The sun, unusually strong for a typical day in Dahngrest, was making Yuri a little drowsy, but he disciplined himself to watch the building with a strict vigilance. As it turned out, this paid off—from a little-used side entrance to the estate, a woman appeared. Mira. The statuesque redhead was unmistakable, even from this distance.

On a trickle of instinct, Yuri hissed at Lucas. "It's her. You should get out of here for now." Swallowing, Lucas nodded sharply and backed out of their hiding spot, away from the estate to a meeting place they had agreed upon earlier. It was always a risk to even include the young teen on these missions—one of the cell's leaders, Merle Dar, would certainly recognize him on sight, and it was impossible to know if anyone else had been given his description. But on the other hand, his knowledge of the extremists had been useful. More than a few of the people that Karol and Raven had observed also had names attached to them because Lucas recognized the listed characteristics.

Yuri wasn't sure how he knew that Mira would come straight for their location. There was something about the woman, in her calculating and smugly confident demeanor, that made him think that she was more apprised of Brave Vesperia's operations involving her cell than she let on. And she didn't seem threatened in the slightest. Dangerous for them, but potentially even more dangerous for her.

Well, Yuri could play the same game. He leaned against a wall as Mira made her way toward him, arms crossed, wearing his laziest expression.

"Your hair," she said, by way of greeting, and flashed a brilliant smile. "I like it much better this way."

"It's been said." Yuri allowed the corner of his mouth to rise a fraction, but didn't otherwise change his stance.

Mira clicked her tongue. "Still so mysterious. What business brings you out here, all alone?" Green eyes met his and lips twitched subtly, as if they shared a private joke.

Yuri shrugged languidly. "Do I need an invitation to take a walk in this neighborhood?"

A dry, throaty laugh from Mira. "Certainly not. Oh, but you've given me the most marvelous opening."

"Really."

"Yes. I wanted to invite you to a gala that I'm holding at my estate in a few days. You'll come, won't you?" She smiled again and Yuri couldn't help detecting a feral note in it, even as she exuded innocent enthusiasm.

Mira retrieved a sealed envelope from the silk handbag clutched in her other hand. The square of paper was a mottled ivory color, edged in gold—she extended it to Yuri, who took it wordlessly. That settled, she nodded once.

"Formal attire, of course," she said, sweeping her gaze over him without subtlety. "And do bring your friends. Everyone is welcome."

When Yuri did not respond, Mira swiftly departed. She entered the estate once again and left Yuri to stare down at the envelope, turning it in his hands.

* * *

"It's a trap, Yuri. An _obvious_ one."

Yuri only grunted in reply. The argument had been going back and forth for most of the walk back to headquarters. He just needed to think, to somehow untangle the threads of Mira's intentions. But Lucas kept insisting on nettling him about it.

"I mean, getting you on _her_ territory? All the power's in Mira's hands, don't you get that? She wants you—all of us—there. For some reason." The youth frowned, as if trying to figure out what that might be.

"Maybe," said Yuri. "Or that's exactly what they want us to think. They want us to stay away from the estate, so they tell us to go there, because they _know _we'll think it's a trap."

Lucas's brow furrowed. "Do you really think so?"

"I'm just messing with you, kid." Yuri laughed. "But I guess what I'm trying to say is that we don't know. We can't just assume it's a trap right away."

"But—"

"It probably is, though. Maybe we can use that knowledge to our advantage."

"Uh. Right." Lucas massaged the side of his head. "This is giving me a headache."

Hm, that sounded familiar, thought Yuri, chuckling. The headquarters building wouldn't be far, now; they would turn the corner and…

Huh. That was odd. Lucas skidded to a stop beside Yuri, following his gaze. A bad feeling crept into Yuri's chest as he stared down the cobbled street. His gloved hand clenched into a fist.

The dark squares of windowpanes reflected the early evening moonlight. Not a single one illuminated. Judith had said she would be here when they returned, hadn't she? It was possible, Yuri supposed, that both she and Flynn had gone somewhere for the moment, but there was always at least one light shining in the Brave Vesperia headquarters. Always. Even the one outside the door was extinguished. Yuri reached for his sword, moving ahead of Lucas as he approached the building.

"What's going on, Yuri?" Lucas bit his lip, eyes darting nervously at a dark reflection of the pair in the windows that flanked the door. Yuri raised a hand to silence him and reached for the door's handle, twisting it slowly. It was unlocked. He turned back to Lucas, raising an eyebrow.

"Should we go in?" Lucas's voice was the thinnest of whispers. His hand rested on the hilt of his own weapon, symbolic of the trust he had gained among the group. Yuri responded by swinging the door inward. Fortunately, the guild kept it maintained well enough that it opened without a creak. They slipped inside, hand on the door so that it would fall shut just as silently.

The entryway showed no sign of activity, suspicious or otherwise. No one was posted at the desk, of course. Yuri wasn't sure what he expected to find—as far as he could tell, the building was empty. There were even some reasonable explanations that could account for the lack of light; the winds of Dahngrest were getting stronger all the time, and it was possible that in a building as old as this one, a draft could have extinguished all the candles. Yet that prickling feeling of something not being right was impossible to ignore. Yuri had learned to trust those instincts, over the years.

Cautious and quiet, Lucas and Yuri went down the hall on the ground floor of the building. Each room they passed was equally dark—even the ones with doors firmly closed. So much for the draft hypothesis. The lounge was up ahead, and Yuri turned to tell Lucas that they should flank the two entrances into the room.

He was gone.

Yuri whirled around, peering into the darkness for some sign of the teen. Where could he have possibly…

"Lucas," he hissed, not wanting to draw attention just in case his instincts of danger meant someone else was in the building. But if the kid had disappeared—Yuri raised his voice to a normal volume. "Lucas."

From somewhere that Yuri couldn't see, a woman laughed. It was almost a giggle, soft and mischievous and creepy as hell. And hang on a minute, he _knew_ that laugh.

"Judy?" He scowled, still scanning the darkness. The giggling abruptly stopped. Not knowing what else to do, Yuri pushed open one of the doors that led into the lounge.

This room wasn't visible from the street, so he wouldn't have known that it was faintly illuminated by only the bare minimum of candle sconces on the wall. His eyes having adjusted to the darkness, Yuri blinked a little at the abrupt change in light. And refocused on something that he really should have noticed right away.

Flynn was seated on the couch, back resting against the cushions and a book held loosely in one hand. There had been many times that Yuri had thought—and even told him—that he should relax a bit, and this…well, it definitely fit what he had in mind. The blond wore a shirt that was a deep, rich blue, the first couple of buttons undone to reveal the hollow of his neck and collarbone. One leg was thrown casually over the other, in black dress slacks that Yuri was pretty sure Flynn hadn't owned a few days ago, considering the lack of dark clothing for following Mira and Merle Dar.

The entire picture was far more alluring than it had any right to be. Yuri willed his scrambled mind to remember what he had come in here for in the first place, but it seemed to be stubbornly frozen.

"It's impolite to stare." Flynn didn't look up from his book, but his lips curved upwards.

"Huh?" Yuri frowned. "Oh, yeah. Why's it so dark in here, Flynn?"

He set the book down on the cushion beside him. "Why not? It's evening, after all."

"Well, yeah, but…" Yuri shook his head, hopelessly confused. "Nevermind. I ran into Mira."

Flynn jerked his head back a little at this, pressing his lips together in distaste. "You did?"

"Yep. Here." He tossed the invitation into Flynn's lap, the ivory envelope spinning sideways through the air until it landed. Flynn picked it up, lifted the flap and drew out the thick, embellished paper square. His eyes scanned the words quickly, and then he slid it back into the envelope, shaking his head.

"So, what do you think?"

Flynn lifted his eyes to meet Yuri's. "Interesting. But I think I'm a bit tired of dealing with extremist business for the moment. We'll have a meeting about this tomorrow, right?"

Well, that was unexpected. It wasn't like Flynn to brush off a new development like that—normally he would seize the opportunity to talk and analyze it to death. What was _with_ him tonight?

"I guess so." Yuri crossed his arms. "Taking the night off, huh?"

Flynn smiled. "You could say that. I was about to go eat dinner…You're hungry, aren't you? You should join me."

If the man was trying to stall Yuri's brain, he was doing a good job of it. And if it had been anyone else, he would swear it sounded like—but this was Flynn. It wouldn't be the first time that he said something ambiguous, but had intentions that were entirely innocent. So Yuri shrugged.

"Sure."

Flynn stood up and walked toward him. "I think Judith already cooked something so that it would be hot when you returned. Let's go check it out."

Yuri made a vague sound of agreement, eyes drifting briefly to Flynn's open collar before he could stop himself. It wasn't like it was anything he'd never seen before, but something about it being so blatantly _on display_—he rolled his eyes, inwardly. What was he thinking? Hadn't been getting enough sleep, or something. Yeah, _something_ was right, his mind told him mockingly. Yuri scowled into Flynn's back as he followed him into the dining room.

Two plate settings had been arranged—on a smaller table in the corner, used for when only one or two guild members wanted to eat something without sitting at the long, more formal table in the middle of the room. Yuri remembered his "bad feeling" instincts from earlier. They hadn't really gone away, and spiked again when he considered how much this looked like it was set up in advance.

"Lucas hasn't eaten either," Yuri pointed out. "Why isn't there a place set for him?"

Flynn's mouth quirked as he took a seat and indicated that Yuri should do the same. "Lucas is being taken care of. He's with Judith, after all." A quick grin. "Someone has a crush, I think."

Yuri's mind had been drifting, so he lost track of what Flynn was talking about for a moment. "What?"

"Lucas, Yuri." Those blue eyes looked amused. "And Judith only seems to encourage it. I just hope he doesn't take it too seriously." Flynn moved to fill both their glasses with wine, which wasn't really helping Yuri's mental insistence that this was obviously _not a date._

The food, however, smelled amazing. With Judy's cooking skill, Yuri knew it would taste just as good. He took a bite of perfectly seasoned chicken—it was moist, flavorful and a welcome distraction from how weird this night was becoming.

Then he realized that Flynn wasn't eating. He was just looking at him. What the hell.

Yuri put down his fork, giving his friend a questioning look.

"Yuri," he said, out of the blue, "do you think I am brave?"

"Uh. Yes?" Was this a trick question? Suddenly Yuri wasn't at all sure that he was glad he had gotten out of bed that morning. Everyone seemed set on messing with his head.

"You're wrong, though." Flynn's mouth twisted. "I'm not at all. Going into battle and risking my life is easy. But I am such a coward that I've been lying to my best friend for years."

Yuri kept his face a blank mask, but could feel his heart rate increase. He made a dismissive gesture and moved to pick up his fork again; he didn't make it. Flynn reached across the table, resting his hand atop Yuri's. It reminded him of the slip in the kitchen, where he had thoughtlessly let his hand linger and then acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Because he would not allow himself, not even to think about it, because—

"Listen," said Flynn, eyes serious. "Please."

Part of Yuri wanted to pull his hand away and deny everything. Another part of him really didn't want to. It said something about the strangeness of the day that the latter part won.

"I _am_ a coward," Flynn repeated. "And I can't keep hiding like a child because of fear of the unknown."

He turned Yuri's hand over and curled fingers around his, tips brushing against the skin of his palm, a slightly ticklish, electric sensation. Yuri's pulse pounded in his ears. He wondered, dimly, if he should say something.

"I shouldn't worry how it would be received—but I do." Flynn smiled, a little sadly. "I only wish to be authentic, as your friend. How you respond is up to you, even if I hope…"

Yuri's fingers flinched compulsively under Flynn's. He slid his hand away.

"…I don't think you know what you're asking."

Flynn blinked. Yuri clenched his jaw at the blond's expression, which wasn't exactly heartbroken; maybe crestfallen was the word.

"What do you mean?"

Flynn often called him an idiot, but Yuri thought he didn't know how right he was. His heart still thundered in a very distracting manner. "I can't. I mean. Dammit, Flynn…" The last was under his breath, but his friend's brows rose behind his bangs.

"I don't understand. If you don't feel the same way, that's fine, but you seem awfully frustrated, Yuri."

Maybe he'd spent too much time around Repede, but Yuri had the sudden urge to growl. Everything was falling apart and he hadn't been remotely prepared to deal with it. Yeah, Yuri was with Flynn on one point; he would rather take on monsters and armies any day.

"No, it's—"

"So you _do—_"

"Flynn, stop it."

"Stop what? Should I apologize for being honest? I should have known, though. Stringing me along with all your ridiculous hints, and do not even pretend that you don't, Lowell."

Flynn was glaring at him, now. Somewhere, they had slid chairs back and were standing, shouting into each other's faces. Well, this was more normal, at least.

"You think that was on purpose? Jeez, Flynn, you really don't get it at all."

Flynn opened his mouth and closed it, apparently insulted. "Oh, is there something to get? Then enlighten me, please."

"…I didn't want you to want this," Yuri spat out, and instantly wanted those words back.

"You…what?"

"I hoped you would get over it, alright? Someone like me—just forget about it."

Silence.

"Yuri," said Flynn, incredulous. "You are such an idiot." He seemed to mean it more than usual.

They both turned as one of the doors into the lounge swung open, and Lucas poked his head in, looking a little tentative. He had heard them arguing, Yuri realized with chagrin.

Lucas put on his most cheerful grin, holding out a covered platter.

"Does, um, does anyone want dessert?"

* * *

A/N: Hey, everyone. *grins* I'm so sorry for the delay! The short version is that I wrote seven pages but then had to rewrite the entire chapter from scratch, and anyone who has had to do that knows how despairing it can be. That's why it took so long—that and the length of it, which hopefully helps to make up for the wait.

Some notes on this: I don't like the idea of Flynn with someone other than Yuri any more than the next person, but realistically he's not a _monk._ Haha. I'd say just about everyone has more than one love in their entire lives, which doesn't always get addressed in fandom. Also, we finally get to why Yuri's been so stubborn about Flynn, though people who read into his comments to Sodia late in the game may have figured as much. You know, all that "standing in until the right person comes along" business. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	19. Welcome

**19. Welcome**

Estelle ran her hand along the weathered wooden railing of the Imperial vessel. She had to admit a preference to the more natural feel of this sort of ship rather than the metal-hulled Imperial warships that now sat unused in the harbor, gray and sterile. Until the blastia researchers managed to control mana in such a way that would make the more advanced ships safe to operate again, the knights reverted to an older but still serviceable fleet. Perhaps it was a romantic notion, but Estelle felt that _this_ was the way that travel over the water was supposed to be—sails and ropes, salty water tossed onto the decks from the rolling waves below.

The older technology did add a few days to their journey, however, and Estelle could feel the difference. Naturally, Tor's responsibilities to the knights kept him from seeing Estelle all that often. He did try to spend at least a few moments of each day with her, but that still left many hours with little else to do than stare out the small window in the room she shared with Rita. She had tried writing a little, but the motion of the ship caused a few too many frustrating ink blotches on the paper. So Estelle read one of the books she had brought with her, and daydreamed—two pursuits that had been her whole existence in the castle, but were no longer quite as satisfying.

The announcement that land would be visible beyond a thick bank of fog at any moment had finally brought Estelle up on deck despite the chilly damp of the air. She moved up toward the bow, hoping to be one of the first to spot their destination. Was that it, there? A slowly thickening line between sea and sky, barely visible through the haze. Estelle smiled, palm brushing against a knot in the dark-stained wood as she watched the horizon.

"Anxious to see your friends?" Tor slipped his arms around Estelle's waist, voice low and playful next to her ear. She leaned back against him, loosening her grip on the rail.

"Speaking of," he continued, "how's Rita feeling today?"

A sigh escaped Estelle's lips. Rita had spent much of their voyage huddled in her bunk, snuffling and turned toward the wall. When asked, she would mutter about a bad cold—and from what few glimpses that Estelle had gotten of her, the mage _did_ have a very red nose and a sickly pallor to her skin. Poor Rita. If only Estelle could shake the feeling that her friend's avoidant attitude wasn't completely due to illness. Even when Rita had been sick in the past, she at least had the energy to complain about it or grumpily accept Estelle's attempts to cheer her up and wait on her. She was being far too quiet.

"Um, she's not sniffling as much. I think she's getting better." Estelle looked down at her hands, which she had started wringing anxiously without realizing. She moved them to rest against Tor's at her waist, taking comfort in his presence even as she realized that he was the source of her troubles with Rita in the first place.

Not Tor himself, Estelle mentally corrected. Her deception involving him. She hadn't spared Rita's feelings at all—instead, she had thrown Rita's trust in her into doubt, shown she would keep things from her. The reason didn't matter. Well, she would just have to apologize once Rita felt well enough to listen to her. She had tried back in Halure, when she had first revealed her relationship with Tor, but Rita's voice had gone too cheerful and casual, brushing it away—only the fact that she immediately bustled off to pack instead of letting Estelle explain further had betrayed that she might be hurt.

Rita…

"Stella, are you up in the clouds again?"

She turned her head to look up at Tor, who was grinning fondly.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did you say something? I…was worried about Rita."

"I thought you just said she was getting better? Anyway, I asked if you were going to stay with Brave Vesperia once we reach Dahngrest. I'll have to remain in camp outside of the city with the knights, of course. Just making sure you understand that."

"Yes, of course. That's fine. Sorry."

Tor chuckled. "It's okay," he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "You're cute."

And Estelle allowed herself a moment to stop worrying about a friend's hurt feelings, as Tor's warmth kept away the worst of the wind and fog. Standing there with him, Estelle watched the land draw closer until she could make out the dark line of a distant forest, and a tower rising into the sky.

Late in the afternoon, the ship anchored off the beach not far from Ghasfarost. Estelle and Rita were rowed to shore in a smaller boat with Tor and a few of the knights in his unit. Other boats followed until a band of about twenty Imperial Knights in full armor milled around the two women, carrying equipment to set up camp once they reached the outskirts of Dahngrest's territory. Heavy boots made tracks that crisscrossed the wet sand like insect trails.

The speed and efficiency with which the knights carried out their orders impressed Estelle, bringing to mind the influence of leaders like Leblanc and Flynn. She frowned as she remembered that the extremists had forced both men out of their admirable service to the Empire. Leblanc may recover enough to be reinstated to his rank, but the Council had pushed Flynn out entirely. Didn't they realize that he inspired and improved the Knights as a whole? Well, that was what Estelle had come for. She would do her best to help in keeping the Council's ambitious designs from tearing down everything that Flynn and others like him had worked so hard to accomplish.

Caught up in her renewed resolve, Estelle almost missed the dark flash of motion in the trees just beyond the beach's far edge. Several of the knights paused in their duties and looked toward the forest—it was most likely a harmless animal, but could be a monster just as easily. It was only prudent to be wary.

Only a blink or two later, everything was thrown into chaos. Dozens of armed men and women rushed out of the dense forest and quickly surrounded the beach, seeming undaunted by the imperially trained knights that they faced. Estelle didn't have to wait long to know why—a line of archers stepped forward from the trees, armor-piercing arrows notched and trained on the outsiders.

"Well, well," said a man in the center of the group on the beach. "What brings the Empire's little foot soldiers all the way out here? I will speak to the highest-ranking knight among you. As for the rest…stand _very_ still."

He chuckled richly and crossed his arms, waiting. Estelle's view of the scene was abruptly cut off by an armored back.

"We can't let them know you're here, m'lady," hissed the knight. It was Kyan, one of Tor's friends who had been kind to her throughout their travels. And he was right. As Princess, she was a major target—had already _been_ a target, though that time they had failed. But the highest rank meant Tor. What would happen? Estelle bit her lip, wishing she could watch but grateful for the protection.

"This? This child is who you put in charge?" Laughter rippled through the group from the man who spoke and Estelle could feel indignant anger building. "I expected a grizzled veteran. Have you even passed a blade over your chin, boy?"

An absurd accusation, since at twenty-three Tor had plenty of experience in that area, but Estelle shut her eyes and hoped the knight would see the words as the goading attempt they so obviously were.

"I count over fifty of you, all bearing arms. For someone who apparently holds us in such contempt, you seem rather threatened by our presence."

The man snorted. "Bold words for one with an arrow trained for his heart. I believe we have the advantage here."

"Maybe. I'd still like to know what you intend to do with us."

Estelle listened to the exchange, stomach twisting as she clenched a fistful of her skirts. The thought of Tor with only a tensed bowstring between him and an arrow in his chest…

"For some reason, our leader seems to think you're worth more alive than dead. More the pity—for us, that is. But we offer the finest accommodations, if you like damp stone and perpetual darkness." More laughter.

If things continued like this, the entire mission would be forfeit—not to mention the inevitable capture of Estelle herself, which would create an entirely new set of problems. She was not at all certain the being taken alive deal included her. Which left only one thing to do, something that the extremists could not have planned for. Estelle clasped her hands before her, concentrating and speaking familiar words under her breath. Kyan looked back with confusion and opened his mouth as if to question her. But it was already done.

Spears of light streaked down from the sky, scorching the tops of trees in their path. They struck the line of archers and killed most of them instantly. Estelle squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, awash with the guilt that still swept over her whenever she was forced to strike down another human being. Those people had families, hopes and dreams. But they were ready to kill Estelle and her friends, too. It was a cruel balance.

Those on the beach reacted immediately. Tor called the knights to attack and the two groups were soon locked in battle. Estelle backed off—with the knights and extremists mixed together, she didn't dare risk attacking with more magic, and it would be foolish to jump into the fray with a sword, even if she had training with one. She would stand by with healing and support artes if necessary.

To Estelle's surprise, Rita had lent her assistance to the knights, scarf-like weapon twisting and spinning through the air. It was good that she felt well enough to fight, but Estelle hated that she was exerting herself so soon after her illness. After a moment of thought, she cast a strength-bolstering spell on her friend, its crest shimmering in the air before binding to the young mage. Rita froze and shot a glance over at Estelle, partially hidden by a sand dune from the fighting. Their eyes met and Rita spun away. She lashed at a woman who tried to strike her with an axe and the fabric wrapped around the weapon and tugged it away, burying it blade-first in the sand. Rita's opponent stared at her before dashing off in the opposite direction—many of the extremists were retreating now, in fact.

Where the fighting remained thick and fierce, Estelle spotted Tor, sword moving swiftly from stance to stance. He looked pained, and closer scrutiny revealed a deep gash across his upper left arm. It was all Estelle could do to resist the urge to rush to his side and heal it on the spot. She bit her lip and watched the fight play out. Against what had at first seemed like hopeless odds, they were winning.

The man who had confronted Tor was among the much smaller group of extremists left standing when he sounded the retreat with frustration and fatigue evident in his voice. They dashed to the edge of the forest, all but an unlucky few evading the pursuing knights.

"I don't know what sorcery you have on your side," the man sneered before he disappeared into the trees. "But next time, know that we will be prepared for it. Our business with you lot is far from over."

"Alright," Tor responded sarcastically, though the extremist had already gone. He winced, rotating his arm to inspect the damage. As he lifted his eyes to scan the sands, a frown settled on his lips. There were many extremists brought down by the knights, but it was hardly one-sided. Men in Imperial armor also lay still on the beach, some with arrows from the few surviving archers, most slashed open by enemy blades.

Kyan clapped a gauntleted hand on Tor's shoulder, and the Lion Blade glanced back at him with a small amount of relief.

"You did all that you could," he began, but was cut off by a sharp question from Tor.

"Where is she?"

Estelle, who had been making her way toward him, eyes on the two men's exchange rather than the fallen soldiers and strangers, took a breath. "I'm right here."

She squeaked in surprise when Tor crushed her to him in a one-armed embrace.

"You're amazing, Stella," he said quietly, lips pressed against her hair. "I didn't want you to be in danger, but…thank you."

A blush rose to her cheeks at the very public display, though she was secretly pleased by the intensity of his reaction. "You're hurt," she said sternly, when he finally released her. A healing arte formed around him and finished with a bright flash that left them both blinking. The cut, not quite as deep as it had appeared, mended easily.

"There are definitely perks to having a girlfriend who can use artes without bohdi blastia," Tor said with a smirk, though Estelle could tell his heart wasn't in it. There would be families to inform of the death of a son, a father, a husband. Knights had gone to work removing bodies from the sand, the rising tide already washing away their blood.

* * *

Estelle couldn't say what she had been expecting when she rapped lightly on the door to Brave Vesperia's headquarters later that afternoon, but it definitely hadn't been Flynn in a tuxedo.

"Oh! Flynn, you look so handsome!"

Blue eyes blinked at her as Flynn held the door open with one hand. "Estellise? Ah, thank you." He smiled, ushering her and Kyan inside. "This is a surprise. I did not expect to see you in Dahngrest any time soon."

"Tor was promoted to Lion Blade," she said proudly. "He was called out here to investigate the extremists. I'm here to help, too."

Flynn nodded. "Good for him. We've been watching the cell for a couple of weeks now, in fact. I recall that Tor is no friend of Noran's; perhaps we can work together, trade information." He seemed to remember Kyan's presence then, eyes darting over a bit nervously, and visibly relaxed when the other knight responded with a nod of his own.

Estelle peered around her friend into the entryway of the building. From somewhere further in, she could hear several voices and hurried footsteps. There seemed to be quite the flurry of activity this evening.

"Um, why are you dressed that way?" she ventured in a soft voice, hoping it wasn't a rude question. Flynn looked down at himself and laughed a little.

"I suppose this _would_ seem a bit strange to you," he said. "It's a long story, but one of the extremist leaders invited us into their estate for a formal party. Nearly all of us assume it's a trap of some kind, but Yuri managed to convince us to go anyway. You know how he is…"

Yuri himself appeared from behind Flynn with a smile and hug for Estelle, though she had expected a sarcastic barb in response to the blond man's comment. She supposed that even Yuri didn't have to take every opportunity for snark—just…almost always. His hair was swept up neatly into a high tail, a look that Estelle had long thought was a particularly attractive one for him. It highlighted a fine bone structure that was often at least partly concealed by a curtain of long, dark hair. Yuri was not wearing a suit yet, however, and that smirk finally appeared when questioned about it.

"I'm not in any hurry. That kind of thing is a bit too clean-cut for a guy like me, don't you think?"

Estelle thought that he would look great in formal attire and told him so, but not before noticing a muscle spasm in Flynn's jaw and a dark, sidelong look directed at Yuri. By the time Judith appeared, wrapping her arms around Estelle's shoulders with a tone of surprise in her murmured greeting, Flynn had left the room.

She didn't have more than a moment or so to wonder what was going on between the two men before Judith's natural curiosity pulled her away.

"Is this knight the boyfriend I keep hearing about? Hmm, he doesn't fit the description…" Judith eyed the compact, brown-haired Kyan, who shook his head, eyes widening.

"Oh. No. Not me. Tor would kill me if…well, he wouldn't _literally_ kill me, he's actually a nice guy and only kills people if they attack him, and even then it's not as if he _likes_ it, and…you know what? I'm going to shut up now."

He grinned a bit sheepishly, but though the knight was already a bit prone to rambling, Estelle could see why he might be especially flustered. Judith's burgundy dress had a neckline that plunged low in front and clung to her curves, with a slit running up one leg just far enough to tantalize. She had her hair done up in an intricate design held by decorative pins, but Estelle doubted that any man looking at her would take any notice of that.

"This is Kyan, a friend of Tor's," she said, taking the awkward silence as an opportunity for a more coherent introduction. "He offered to escort me here since Tor needed to stay with his knights; isn't that sweet?" She beamed at him, which seemed to put him over the edge into an embarrassed flush.

"Indeed." Judith arched a brow, lips twitching with amusement. "I do hope I'll get to meet the man in question while he's here."

"Oh, I'm sure you will!" Estelle waved at Karol as he ran into the room, skidding to a stop in front of Yuri who was sprawled casually across a chair in the corner. In his haste, Karol didn't notice her, making a face as he held a strip of fabric out to the dark-haired man.

"I don't know how to do this," he said, sounding almost frantic.

Yuri gave him a level look. "Why are you asking me? I don't make a habit of wearing things that simulate choking."

"Come on, Yuri! You've at least worn a tie before. I can't get it right, and Judith said it's easier if someone else does it for you. Please?" Those owl-like brown eyes managed to get even bigger as he stared at Yuri until the man sighed in defeat, holding out his hand.

"There," he said once he had finished, giving the knot a final adjustment. "And hey, Karol. I think someone wants to see you."

"Huh?" Karol spun around, a bright grin splitting his face when he noticed Estelle.

"No way!"

Having seen her safely to headquarters, Kyan took his leave and Estelle was quickly caught up in the chatter of friends she hadn't seen in months. Karol always amazed her by looking more grown up each time she saw him, and being dressed up like that only intensified the feeling. As for Judith, she had plenty of questions about Tor, some of the probing looks she gave Estelle making her blush and divert the conversation until later. It wasn't long until the group would have to leave for their party—naturally, Estelle herself couldn't go, as there was no need to essentially deliver herself to the enemy. Yuri suggested she stay with a boy named Lucas, whose story Estelle resolved to get once the others had left. From the way he talked about him, Yuri seemed rather fond of the teen.

Far too soon, the glamorously attired partygoers filtered out into the street, leaving the brightly lit building of Brave Vesperia to be looked after by a princess, a former extremist and a warrior dog.

* * *

Yuri leaned against the wall, taking the occasional sip from a thin long-stemmed glass as his eyes lazily scanned the room. He and the others, as it turned out, were almost underdressed—many of the other guests sparkled with gold embroidery and glittering jewels on necks and fingers. Well, they weren't there to impress anyone, or even necessarily to enjoy themselves. A fact which Judy seemed to have ignored, as she had dragged Flynn to the other end of the room where a formal, complicated dance had partners weaving and spinning across the floor. But knowing the Krityan, she likely had some information-gathering angle to the seemingly frivolous pursuit.

He wondered idly where Raven and Karol had gone. Last time he had seen them, the old man was using Karol as bait, an icebreaker for flirtation. Oddly enough, that _was_ part of the plan; they hoped that Raven's somewhat perverse inclinations would cause female extremists to underestimate him. The goal for Mira's gala could be boiled down pretty simply, actually: get information, using whatever means necessary.

And speaking of their host, at that moment she maneuvered through the crowd to appear in front of Yuri. Other than a few brief glimpses, it was the first time he had really seen her in the hour or so since they had arrived at the estate.

"Do you wear your hair differently every day, or is that just for me?" Mira smirked, crossing her arms in such a way that Yuri wondered for a moment if she wasn't about to expose herself. Her dress was snug and slinky like the copper one she had worn when he had first encountered the woman, but this vivid green gown would be considered revealing even by Judith's standards.

He shrugged. "I like to mix things up." Really, that dress was almost obscene.

Mira laughed softly, taking in the rest of his appearance. "You enjoy pushing the limit, don't you?"

She was referring, he could only assume, to his unbuttoned suit jacket and the top of his shirt, which also lacked anything tied around the neck. Yuri was in formal attire, as promised. No one had told him that he had to wear it a certain way. When he didn't respond, Mira tried a different tack.

"Your friend seems to be enjoying himself," she said, nodding to where Flynn switched dance partners and deftly stepped with the music.

"I guess." A red brow lifted. "Uh, everyone knows he's not…who he used to be, right?" Yuri would hate to have brought an extremist target into their own den, so to speak.

Mira clicked her tongue. "None of that. You are all my guests and perfectly safe. So let's just pretend for tonight. I am just a woman, and you are just a man, yes?"

Easy for her to say. Let's pretend that I didn't try to kill your friends in Zaphias and would try again, given half the chance. Hardly just a woman—a very dangerous one, unpredictable and largely unknown. Who was, at the moment, resting her hand across his forearm. In a chilling flash of realization, Yuri saw his part in the plan. The rest of the estate opened up to him, with all its secrets. All it would take was to play Mira's game, and win.

The petite woman, slender neck draped with so much silver and diamonds that it nearly blinded when light hit them, pressed her hand into Flynn's and allowed herself to be spun in a circle several times until he passed her to the next man in the line. He allowed himself a quick glance over at Judith, who whispered in her dance partner's ear something that made him stutter over his words despite his grim appearance. If anyone could get a stranger to spill information entirely by accident, it was the Krityan.

As for Flynn, his energy was beginning to flag. As Commandant, he had sometimes been invited to balls and dinners held at the castle, though usually duties had prevented his attendance. The few times he had made an appearance, he had not spent nearly this much time dancing. Why it was more tiring than battle was beyond him. Judith didn't seem to have any problems with it, of course.

Despite himself, Flynn found his eyes searching the room for Yuri. Though the dinner at headquarters had been a resounding failure—other than discovering exactly _why_ Yuri had never expressed romantic feelings for him, and apparently didn't intend to—he did not wish it to damage their friendship. Yuri had behaved…oddly…since that night. Not hostile or even avoidant, but different. Flynn didn't like it.

He also didn't like what he saw when Yuri finally caught his eye on the far side of the room. Mira was there, stepping into the man's personal space and running fingers along his arm in a way that made Flynn's blood boil. Yuri should have pushed her away, so why was he looking at her with that half-lidded gaze, allowing her to hook a hand around his arm and lead him through the crowd? A small voice told Flynn that he was just playing a part, but was this really necessary? Yuri was clever, but seduction was really more Judith or Raven's realm.

A feminine throat cleared, causing Flynn to realize he had lost track of the dance, but he shook his head, stepping out of the circle. He ran a hand through his hair as he watched Yuri and Mira reach the foot of a staircase—and ascend it together. For the first time, Flynn wondered if getting his rank back was really worth all of this. He swallowed, feeling his brow furrow and stay that way.

"Oh, Yuri…" Flynn heard Judith whisper nearby. "I hope you know what you're doing."

* * *

A/N: Umm, yeah. My computer is broken, thus the delay.

Anyway, Yuri, stop being so passive-aggressive! *glares at him * He's the sort that when he sees a way to get something done, he takes it, whether it's murdering someone that would slip through the cracks of justice or going along with the seduction of someone he's not remotely interested in. :p But, uh, it will all work out. Somehow. I promise.


	20. Axis

**20. Axis**

Deep red lips made a heated trail down Yuri's chest as Mira slipped the next button of the crisp white shirt free, and he wondered what the woman thought she would accomplish here. Even if she were, in fact, attracted to him physically, Yuri had no illusions that mere lust had driven Mira to lure him up to her chambers. Did she think he would become muddled in a moment of passion and let slip some bit of information she could use? She would have to know that Yuri would be on his guard for that sort of thing—though it was a disturbing fact that Mira seemed to learn things about him and his friends even when Yuri said nothing at all.

As the shirt slid from Yuri's shoulders, he was aware of the redhead eying him appreciatively. Well, that seemed genuine enough, and a part of him was aware that his pride puffed up a little despite the fact that the woman was like a poisonous animal, her beauty vibrant and lethal. Even so, he was relieved when she left the lower half of his clothing alone. If she had started on that right away, it would have…complicated things.

Mira's smoldering gaze didn't leave his face as she held out a hand, lacquered nails curling toward her palm until Yuri reached out and let her draw him further into her rooms. They were even fancier than Flynn's in the castle—Yuri frowned when the comparison flashed across his mind; he really couldn't think about that right now—with rich fabrics and golden decorations that were somehow opulent rather than gaudy. Soft lighting helped the effect, casting a burnished glow on the metal furnishings and deep shadows in the folds of curtains and chairs.

The bed stood out as a focal point in the deepest part of the room, low to the ground and surrounded on three sides with sheer material. Mira pulled the nearest piece aside, moving to lounge on the silky covers, propped on one elbow. She watched as Yuri followed and sat beside her. Half a minute passed with little more than a caress from the woman, fingers swept along his upper arm. Her eyes stayed locked with Yuri's until it occurred to him: the game. It was, apparently, his move.

Yuri leaned over the redhead, applying a gentle pressure to her shoulder with his left hand until she lay on her back, hair fanning out behind her. Mira smirked up at him, the look in her eyes both self-satisfied and inviting. This only intensified as Yuri straddled her, one hand now against her arm as the other reached up to pull his hair loose from the high tail. As he did this, Yuri brought his lips down to cover Mira's, delivering a kiss fiery enough to evoke a small sound of surprised pleasure from the woman.

Mira made an entirely different sound, though, when the slim dagger that Yuri had concealed in his hair pricked her neck. The kiss muffled her initial alarmed squeak, and Yuri slid his other hand between their mouths before he pulled back, the rest of his body keeping her pinned beneath him. Wide green eyes communicated shock and just a trickle of fear.

"You should know by now, Mirabel, that I don't play by the rules."

Yuri felt Mira's mouth twist beneath his fingers at the sardonic use of her given name. She stared up at him with pure hatred, now. Maybe she had thought he would go through with it, hoping for a chance to search her room, after. There were many ways to manipulate through a situation like this one, but all of them counted on the other person going along.

Keeping the dagger at Mira's throat, Yuri pulled her to her feet and away from the bed. He led the woman back through her rooms, quickly scooping up his shirt and tying it snuggly around Mira's wrists. The suit jacket, he left. Didn't have time to find where it had been discarded in some dark corner, anyway.

"Here's how this is going to work. I'm guessing the estate has some kind of room where records and information are kept. So you're going to tell me where it is, and then take me there. Silently."

At Yuri's words, Mira shot him a venomous glare, but nodded stiffly. He pulled his hand away from her mouth, waiting.

"It's downstairs, the third room in the hallway off the dining room. There is a combination lock on the door." She pursed her lips. "I will open it when we get there, if you insist."

"No. I want the code now." A light press of the dagger, for a little extra incentive.

"Oh, don't be a brute. It's beneath you." She sighed, reciting the numbers in a bored tone. "Five five seven oh three seven one. Now what do you need _me_ for?"

"An interesting thing to say, considering the blade at your throat."

At that, Mira actually _laughed_. "You aren't going to kill me. Don't be ridiculous. Lead on."

Yuri returned his hand to cover Mira's mouth, ignoring the fact that she rolled her eyes at him when he did so. Well, he couldn't have her shouting for assistance in an estate even more full of extremists than usual—especially since she didn't seem concerned that he would harm her if she did so.

They made their way down the hall and were almost to the staircase—different from the one they had ascended, not open into the ballroom like that one had been—when Mira abruptly dug her heels in and stopped.

"What—" Yuri started to say, but he didn't get any further than that when teeth chomped down on the middle finger of his left hand. He shouted, cursing and shaking the hand as he snatched it away. While Yuri was momentarily without enough focus to keep the dagger against Mira's skin, she whirled around with a triumphant grin and kneed him in the groin.

Yuri didn't see the redhead run off, didn't know if she was laughing as she left him there in the upstairs hallway. In all honesty, he was surprised that he didn't black out. Yuri hissed in pain, leaning heavily against the wall and blinking the spots from his eyes. If anyone had happened to walk by in that moment immediately after, they would have heard a very colorful string of choice words directed at the extremist woman. He was still slumped there a minute later, eyes squeezed shut, when the sound of footsteps stopped directly in front of him.

"…Yuri?"

Oh. Of course.

"Yuri. Are you okay?"

Eyes still closed, Yuri groaned under his breath. "Just…hang on, Flynn. Can't talk."

Flynn was obediently silent; Yuri opened one eye just enough to see a concerned frown on his friend's face. As the pain dulled, Yuri pushed his shoulder away from the wall, letting out a long sigh.

"Alright. Better now, I guess."

Flynn gave him a skeptical look. "I saw you come up here with Mira."

There was no accusation in the blond man's tone, but the obvious question was still there. Well, it had to be done for the mission, one way or another. If Flynn was going to get jealous about something that meaningless, that was his business.

"Yeah. I had her but…she got away." He grimaced again and Flynn seemed to realize what had happened, frowning sympathetically. Then he tore his eyes away from where they had automatically drifted, a blush starting to redden his cheeks.

His gaze slid instead to Yuri's bare chest. "…Where's your shirt?"

Yuri shrugged. "I had to tie her up."

The scandalized expression on Flynn's face was beyond priceless. It was all Yuri could do to keep from laughing despite the residual pain—it seemed that the great Flynn Scifo, champion of justice and virtue, could have quite the dirty mind after all. Far be it from Yuri to clear up such a hilarious misunderstanding. Instead, he told Flynn what he had learned about the Dahngrest cell's records.

"They will be expecting us now, you know. So that information from Mira is practically worthless."

"Maybe," said Yuri. "But it's worth a shot. We're already here, and we might not get another chance like this one."

Flynn sighed. "Why do I let you drag me into these messes?"

"So that's a yes?" Yuri smirked at the exasperated sound that Flynn made, shaking his head as he walked toward the stairs.

* * *

Though spring had barely begun, the lounge of Brave Vesperia's headquarters felt almost oppressively warm to Estelle. Of course, the fact that Tor was in the process of placing a line of kisses from her jaw down to her shoulder might have had something to do with it. His lips tickled the skin on her neck in a way that was pleasant but kind of overwhelming—Estelle could feel her heart race in that fluttery way that it did when she wasn't quite sure what would happen next. She cleared her throat, and Tor lifted his head to look at her, his smile managing to be both affectionate and confused.

"Lucas is right over there," she said, indicating the next room with a slight tilt of her head.

"…Yes?"

"I, um, I'm just saying. He might come in here." Estelle bit her lip, glancing down at where her hands were held within Tor's.

After a moment, he laughed softly. "That's alright. We aren't doing anything that would be inappropriate for anyone else to see." Tor brought one of Estelle's hands up to his lips, kissing the back of it once. "There's no reason to be afraid of me, Stella. I would never do anything that you don't want me to do."

Well, he hadn't actually asked about the neck kissing, but Estelle supposed she would let that one slide. She nodded. A moment later, though, she still found herself fidgeting a little.

"I'm glad you came to see me, Tor," she said, "but don't the knights in camp need you there with them?"

"Trying to get rid of me? I'm offended." Tor winked. "They'll be fine without me for the moment. Kyan does a fine job keeping things in line, along with some of the others…Heh, maybe a better job, in fact."

Estelle frowned and pulled back from Tor to get a better look at his face. He was doing that thing she didn't like, using humor to hide his insecurities and put himself down. Though he was smiling, the amusement didn't reach his eyes.

"They promoted you to Lion Blade because you're one of the best," Estelle said earnestly, reaching out to touch his arm. "You're doing really great, I know it."

The corners of Tor's mouth lifted a fraction more.

"See, I knew I kept you around for a reason," he said. He kissed the tip of her nose and Estelle nestled closer in his arms, feeling like she had been able to help a little. Then one of the doors leading into the lounge swung open, and they sprang apart—Estelle being a bit quicker to disentangle herself than Tor, of course. She looked over at Lucas, who was glancing between them with a sheepish grin on his face.

"I guess this is the part where I ask if I'm interrupting something?"

Estelle ran fingers through her hair and unconsciously rubbed her neck as if Tor's amorous advances would be plainly evident on her skin. Now he really _was_ amused, and her scowl only made it worse.

"Anyway," said Lucas, "there's someone at the door. I think it's another knight?"

Tor perked up at that and walked into the entryway, with Estelle and Lucas following a few steps behind. The open doorway framed a knight that Estelle didn't know—his uniform was that of one of the lowest ranking in the brigade, which made sense in his role as a messenger.

"Sir," he said, arm clasped against his chest in salute. "About half an hour ago, a boat landed on the beach with two men aboard. Our scouts spotted them heading for the extremist estate."

"Did they get a description?"

The knight nodded curtly. "One was dark and muscular, the other on the shorter side but slim, with long hair pulled back at his neck. It was difficult to get a good look at their faces—they were moving quickly, and under the cover of dark."

"I see. On its own, this might not mean anything besides more extremists to deal with—but it may warrant looking into." Tor glanced back at Estelle. "I'm sorry, but I have to go now. Be safe." He smiled tightly and squeezed her shoulder before stepping out into the street.

Estelle let the door close, reeling a little from how quickly her boyfriend had departed. It was perfectly understandable, of course, but she hadn't even had the chance to say goodnight. She made her way back into the lounge, sinking down into the couch with a melancholic sigh.

Repede had come in from the other room and curled up on the rug, and at hearing Estelle he padded over.

"Oh, are you going to let me pet you now?" she said lightly, stretching her hand out toward the top of his head. He huffed, as if laughing, and ducked away from her. But Repede couldn't fool Estelle—he was actually keeping her company. She still made a point of pouting at him, though.

"You're not very nice," she scolded. Then she looked around, listening closely. "Repede, where's Lucas?"

The dog's head snapped up, his undamaged eye bright and alert. He left to investigate nearby rooms, returning not long after with his furry brow lowered into a stern expression. He barked once, sounding anxious. Estelle moved to stand, and when she did Repede growled and bumped his head against her knees until she fell back onto the cushions with a startled sound. She watched helplessly as he rushed out of the lounge, heard a flapping noise as he slid out his specially built exit that was hidden in a side door of the building.

"Repede? Wait…" she called, knowing that he would not be able to hear her. Estelle drew her knees up onto the couch and wrapped her arms around them. The quiet, empty rooms gaped around her, threatening to swallow her up.

* * *

That there were no guards or armed extremists waiting at the room that Mira had indicated set off a chorus of alarm bells in Flynn's head, and he told Yuri as much—but the dark-haired man concentrated on spinning the numbers in the combination lock one by one until it opened with an audible click.

"Well, she didn't lie about the code." Yuri smirked back at Flynn as he held the door open and they slipped inside.

"That, or the code she gave was one that opens the door but also alerts the entire estate to our presence here."

Yuri snorted, lifting the lid of a box of papers that sat atop a nearby desk. "Ever the optimist. Besides, does that kind of thing even work without blastia? Let's just find some…hmm."

Flynn leaned over Yuri's shoulder, doing his best to ignore the proximity to bare skin that reminded him just a little too much of that embarrassing dream of a few nights ago. The paper Yuri held was sealed with red wax, a closed fist depicted within the circle, crossed swords behind it. With a dramatic flair, he broke the seal, unfolding the paper and eagerly scanning the contents.

"Hey, I learned something already," he said, glancing back. "They call themselves 'Liberty's Fist.' Apparently."

That _was_ progress. Flynn wondered why they hadn't spread that name around, as a way of building infamy or inciting fear. Then again, it would be easier to maintain secrecy if only those in on the operation knew how to referred to themselves. Liberty's Fist. An aggressive name, but wasn't true liberty inherently open? Well, Flynn supposed that a terrorist group wouldn't exactly be the best people to define things like freedom and justice.

As Yuri kept reading, he let out a low whistle. "This may be a bigger operation than we thought. Sounds like they've got bases all over the place."

"Fantastic." Flynn scrubbed a hand through his hair, turning in place to look at the other boxes and cabinets scattered around the room. Where to even begin? It wasn't like they had all night—someone could burst in at literally any moment. Mira, at the very least, _knew_ they were here.

"I think this is one of the bigger ones, though. So that's good news."

Flynn wasn't sure how any of that was remotely 'good.' He rifled through the nearest box, hoping to find something useful. After a minute or two, he came up with a few supply orders and a roster of new members from the past six months. Just glancing at it, Flynn wasn't sure if it was meant for only the Dahngrest cell or for the organization as a whole, but he grabbed it anyway.

"We should probably go," he said, crossing over to Yuri, who held a paper in each hand and glanced between them as if deciding which one was important. He nodded to himself and folded the one in his right hand into a square before pocketing it.

"Sure. Right behind you."

With their documents secured, the two men stepped out into the hall. The door closed, automatically locking again, but Flynn only registered the click in a small, distant part of his mind. For a moment, breath and thought ceased.

"The hell," Yuri spat. "Let him go, you bastards."

Several paces away, Mira stood, a sly smile on her deceptively beautiful face. She rested her hands on Lucas's shoulders, holding the teen in front of her as if she were an older friend or a kindly aunt. Only the fear in his eyes betrayed the truth of the situation. Flanking Mira were several other extremists—all men, and including Merle Dar.

"Oh, does he belong to you? We found him sneaking in the back entrance without an invitation." She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "Some nonsense about looking for his brother. Do you know what he could be talking about?"

"Cyrus is here," said Lucas, his voice only quavering a little. "I _saw_ him. He wouldn't let you—"

The boy was interrupted by a backhanded slap across the face from one of the extremists. "You'll speak when spoken to, you worthless little traitor."

Yuri took a step forward, eyes flashing with anger. He clenched his dagger in one hand as if it were a lifeline, at the same time seeming to realize how little he could do. Men with full-sized weapons sneered at him—and Mira? Her smile remained, cruel and darkly amused.

"I provided you with information, Yuri Lowell. Everything comes at a price, you see." Mira tossed her hair and turned casually to Merle Dar. "Kill him."

And it wasn't like in the adventure novels that Estellise had sometimes lent to Flynn in the castle, where the villain savors his triumph, stays his blade until the last moment so that his victim might escape. Here a blade flashed, bit into flesh with ruthless speed—somewhere outside of himself, Flynn heard Yuri shouting, saw him sink to his knees, hair brushing against the polished floor where he leaned over a youth whose life slipped between his own fingers, a slowly spreading circle of red.

The others had gone. When Flynn found himself seated on the floor beside Yuri, Lucas was shivering violently, eyes glassy and unfocused. If Estellise had been there—well, she wasn't, and Flynn was not sure if even then her skills would be enough. Merle Dar had made sure the stomach wound would be fatal, revenge for his friend Warren's execution.

"Where's Raven," asked Yuri, voice so cold and quiet that Flynn had difficulties making out the words. He blinked at his friend once he understood the request. Raven was the only other person he knew of who retained the ability to use artes, but he was hardly a talented healer like Estelle. With a grievous wound like this, involving internal organs…

"I'm not sure if he could—" Flynn began gently.

"_Get_ him."

Flynn nodded stiffly, rising to his feet. He knew Yuri well enough; he would want to feel like he was doing _something_, even in the most hopeless of situations. The reality of what had occurred hadn't quite sunk in yet for Flynn—feeling a little numb, he turned to walk toward the ballroom.

"I'm sorry," he heard Yuri whisper. Flynn shivered, swallowing the lump that sprang into his throat.

* * *

Yuri was raw, scraped out and cold. He talked to Lucas, head propped against his knee, with only the weakest of finger squeezes letting him know that his words were heard and understood. He was too empty for anger, too numb for tears. Stupidly, he wished for his shirt, even his abandoned coat, to try and staunch the bleeding. But he knew it would really be only a gesture, at most.

When the boy died, Yuri swept back unruly bangs and planted a kiss on his cool forehead. Then he scooped him into his arms, marveling at how light he was even slumped across his shoulder, and started for the nearest exit. It was time to leave this forsaken place.

He barely noticed when a man wielding a sword stepped across his path. At this point, did it even matter who he was, what he wanted? They could all go straight to hell.

"Give him to me," said the man, jaw clenched tightly. He looked tense all over, in fact, muscles bunched like coiled wires about to spring.

"Yeah, I don't think so." Yuri was surprised that the ability to speak hadn't left him, though his voice sounded odd somehow.

The other man's eyes grew harder, contrasting with their warm hue—which was, come to think of it, just like…

"You're Cyrus." Yuri frowned. The circumstances of their meeting were far from ideal. "I…didn't kill your brother."

Cyrus was unmoved, watching as Yuri gently laid Lucas's body in front of him. "Maybe," he whispered, and even wrapped up in his own despair Yuri couldn't imagine how seeing the boy like this must feel for his own family. Yuri had never known his blood relatives, though he made his own ties that he felt were just as strong, as real.

"Leave," Cyrus said roughly. "And hope that I don't regret sparing you."

With a final lingering look at his young friend's still features, Yuri backed away, out the door and into the night.

* * *

Even shirtless and bloodied, Yuri was wrapped up in Judy's tight, silent embrace as soon as he returned to headquarters. On the way back, he had met up with Repede, who sat howling mournfully outside the estate—he thought he understood the feeling. In the entryway, Raven shuffled nervously. He seemed to relax when Yuri nodded to him, not having the energy or motivation for anything more than that. While he hadn't really expected the old man to save Lucas, not sending for him, not _trying_, was unacceptable.

Yuri imagined that the rest of his friends were probably in the lounge, wanting to exchange more hugs, maybe even words of comfort. And right then, he couldn't deal. He slipped up the stairs instead, staring at each step in turn and concentrating on not thinking about it. It was remarkably easy. He'd had practice.

When he passed Flynn's room—the guest room, but Yuri supposed he had started thinking of it as _his_, lately—he hesitated. The door was closed, but a thin line of light escaped from within.

"You can come in, Yuri," a quiet, slightly muffled voice said. And who said that he _wanted_ to? He could keep walking to his own room, slip into the blissfully ignorant darkness of sleep. If he could sleep. Yuri wasn't sure about that at all. He shivered, going to his room only to put on a clean shirt before heading back down the hall.

Flynn was in his bed, and he sat up when Yuri entered. For a moment, neither of them said anything.

"So he's gone," said Yuri, sliding to the floor and resting his forehead on the mattress edge. "Damn it."

Yuri grabbed a fistful of the sheets tight enough to whiten his knuckles, and exhaled as Flynn drew his fingers through his hair. The motion was soothing, even though Yuri's insides still felt like they'd been pushed through a wringer and then stomped on a few times for good measure. The entire evening was a tangle, thoughts racing and jumbled in his mind.

"Nothing happened with Mira," he mumbled into the covers, because for some reason that seemed important, even though it wasn't before. Flynn's fingers stilled for a brief moment, then started again.

"Okay," he said.

Yuri wasn't sure how long they sat like that, but the wooden floor was starting to hurt his knees. He lifted his head, meeting Flynn's gaze—Yuri wasn't sure what his friend saw there, but it couldn't have been very good, by the deeply concerned expression on the blond man's face.

"Come here," he said suddenly. "Stay."

Yuri must have looked about as dubious as he felt, because Flynn shook his head.

"I'm not asking for anything other than your presence, Yuri." He sighed heavily. "You're not the only one that's…tonight was…" Flynn cast about for the words to explain, but Yuri knew from experience that none existed. And Flynn looked like he was about to reach the breaking point.

It had been years since Yuri had shared a bed with his best friend—it had been a common occurrence when they were young boys, huddling to keep warm in the Lower Quarter. Of course, that had been entirely innocent. They were just kids, after all. And even in this moment, though it was necessarily charged a little differently, it was still mainly for warmth and comfort.

Yuri settled his back against Flynn's chest, too worn out to worry about _what if_ and _can't _and _shouldn't_. It was quite a while after Flynn had wrapped an arm around him, after all the sounds drifting from the rooms below had faded, that the first tears came—and Yuri was also too tired to be ashamed of them. They both were. And anyway, Lucas deserved that much, didn't he?

Though sleep was elusive, even this night couldn't hold it off forever. But when Flynn woke up in the hour before sunrise, Yuri was gone.

* * *

A/N: ... ...I full-on broke down _bawling _writing this chapter, you guys. Hardest thing I've ever had to write, by far. Plot, you are a cruel, cruel mistress. ...*sniff*


	21. Severing

**21. Severing**

The library was dark, but Merle Dar had been doing this for so long that light was no longer necessary. He knew by memory, by touch where each volume belonged. When something was donated to the collection—which wasn't often, as the library specialized in rare, ancient tomes—he shifted his mental catalogue ever so slightly to take in the new addition. Each book had its place, essentially where it _lived_, and it irked Merle to no end when patrons misplaced them. This was his morning ritual, to stroll through the rows of shelves, running a finger lightly along the spines and looking for errant volumes, and then to return them home.

Merle let out a long sigh as he tugged a thick atlas loose from the shelf and slid books beside it to the right. It belonged three spaces over, yet someone had squeezed it between map collections from an entirely different era. How careless. He started to slip the atlas into the space he had made, only able to push it in halfway before a gust of wind forced him to slap a hand across a pile of papers stacked atop the bookshelf. At the end of the room, he could hear the front door rattle as it closed. The wind ceased.

Slow, deliberate footsteps struck the tile floor, but Merle couldn't see far enough to discern their owner. He frowned, calling out into the darkness.

"The library doesn't open for another two hours yet, I'm afraid. You'll have to come back then, if you wish to look at something in our collection."

A dark outline of a man appeared in the darkness as the footsteps drew closer. "That's alright. I just have one question."

The voice was almost a whisper. Merle strained to see or hear whether he could ascertain who was addressing him.

"Either way, the library is closed. Questions must wait for later as well, and then I will be happy to—"

"I'm wondering," said the voice, and Merle knew in a horrible instant who it was, "if this is your normal routine. You know. Murdering children, and then getting up before the sun to shuffle moldy manuscripts around."

If it had been any other occasion, Merle Dar would have balked at the insinuation that anything in his library was _moldy_. Instead, he reached for the knife at his belt and stepped back between the shelves. But he was too slow. Merle hissed when a blade came down on the wrist of the hand holding his knife, biting deep and sending a stream of blood down his arm. The knife clattered on the tile.

"Hm," said Yuri Lowell. "This the knife you used?" Sword still trained on Merle, he dipped to retrieve it, holding it up in the faint moonlight that filtered in from the high windows. It glinted dully and he grunted, sliding it into the cloth belt at his waist.

"Think I'll melt it down. But first, justice."

Merle's mouth had gone dry, a cold stillness washing over him. That boy had caused the Fist a world of trouble, jeopardizing their operations with the knowledge he shared with their enemies and taking some of their finest members out of commission with his betrayal. And in one, all-important case—permanently. Did this long-haired whelp really believe he was the only one facing loss? That the child was an innocent?

"It was a fair trade," he rasped. "A life for a life."

Yuri laughed, short and humorless. "Fairness has nothing to do with it. Lucas may have betrayed your cause, but he's not like you. Wasn't like you. Your friend was a murderer, Dar."

"And what does this make you?" Merle swept his hand to indicate the sword pointed at his chest, mouth twisting.

"Justice," Yuri repeated, shrugging one shoulder. "Death is too good for you. But the idea of you getting to keep breathing? Yeah, that makes me sick."

Merle nodded slowly, making a subtle movement with his fingers toward the pocket of the robe he slipped on when he entered the library. It was often quite cold, in the morning.

"Looking for this?" The capsule of poison flew up into the air and landed back in Yuri's palm.

Merle's eyes went wide. "W-where did you—"

"You don't get the easy way out." Yuri turned his fisted hand over, dropping the capsule to the floor and crushing it beneath his heel. Merle couldn't stop himself from making a soft sound of dismay. He certainly did not wish for death, but this man would not provide him with a pleasant one. Nor quick, he feared.

Time to change strategies, then. Dignity be damned. "Please, don't do this. I will tell you whatever you wish to know. You must realize how involved I am in our operations in Dahngrest. Only Mira herself outranks me. I am privy to information that hardly anyone else—"

"I don't really care." Another loose shrug, the hand not holding the sword resting casually on Yuri's hip. Merle swallowed. He could feel the sword's point graze his skin, sharp and immediate, a dark promise. Yuri held his gaze steadily with half-lidded eyes.

"So, Merle," he said, voice too calm. "Do you have an office or something we can do this in? If anything happened to these books, Rita would kill me."

* * *

The sheets beside Flynn were still warm, though gradually cooling, when he awoke. He slid a hand over the fabric, chest constricted with a sudden heaviness as he remembered what had occurred. The party. Lucas. It had all collapsed upon him late in the night, when his training as a knight—of distancing himself from pain and soldiering on through his duties—had faded, allowing him to grieve even as he comforted.

And the warmth was proof. He had held his closest friend, had rested his head against Yuri's shoulder, had wept with him. A strand of dark hair clung to his pillow, though the man it belonged to was missing. Flynn wondered sleepily, with some disappointment but not much surprise, if Yuri had simply not wanted to wake in his arms, slipping back to his own room to avoid dealing with the emotional significance of such a scenario. Without the raw emotion of that evening, he would probably find it awkward.

Flynn sighed, slightly embarrassed by the comfort he drew from Yuri's phantom heat and annoyed by his own conclusions. What a mess everything had become. They had made and lost a friend, a boy who had no reason to be involved in this ugliness. No amount of information was worth the end of a life when it had scarcely begun, and he wasn't certain they had learned all that much at the estate in the end. A sense of failure itched uncomfortably under his skin, but was also somehow galvanizing—Flynn threw off the covers and stood, resisting the urge to pace as he went to the window and looked out into the gray of early morning.

As it stood, the extremists—the so-called Liberty's Fist—owned Dahngrest, whatever the Union might think. It was a city asleep, safe in a belief that the injustices of the Empire could not touch it, that they controlled their own destiny. The guilds hadn't stopped Warren's group from nearly wiping out the Imperial leaders; whether they knew of the scheme or not, likely thought of it as outside their concern. If the Empire fell down around them, what did it matter? Yet it did, of course. And the extremists would never stop there, would seize control anywhere that didn't resist them and _win._ The records that Flynn and Yuri had found suggested a deeply rooted organization, far more extensive than they had feared, waiting for their moment, waiting to strike.

Commandant or not, Flynn would stop them. He had been committed before, but the events of the previous night had made it far more personal, about more than just his own goals and the abstract idea of "the good of the Empire." The time for watching passively was over—Flynn and his friends had collected all the information that mere observation would provide, and look what that had gotten them. It only allowed the extremists to gather more strength, which they certainly couldn't afford at this point. It was time to act.

When Flynn knocked on the door to Yuri's room, he wasn't sure whether to be surprised by the silence he received in answer. Calling his name quietly, and then a bit louder, also had no effect. He opened the door a crack, peering into the gloom until his eyes lit on the bed.

It was made up—not neatly, but this was Yuri after all—with blankets turned down beneath the pillow. By all appearances, the man had not touched it since the previous night. The room was uncomfortably warm, thick with the muggy air of Dahngrest's spring. Opposite of the bed, curtains stirred in the open window. Flynn crossed to it, noting distantly the ease in which someone might descend with the loose bricks and shrubbery below. He closed his hand around the flat wood of the windowsill.

"Damn it, Yuri. Please prove me wrong."

* * *

Another morning, another meeting. Yet the tone of this one was subtly different, grim and focused, lacking even the darkest humor. Papers passed from hand to hand, generating a discussion of what Flynn and Yuri found could mean, if there was anything that they could use. When Flynn found his eyes drifting toward where Lucas normally sat, next to Judith and across from Raven, he clenched his jaw against the stabbing reminder.

Every minute that passed without Yuri returning to headquarters only added to an entirely different sinking feeling in Flynn's chest. Other than a few off-hand early remarks, no one made reference to it, but it was obvious in the exchanged glances and skirting around his absence that seemed to be an unspoken agreement of those present. All waited, though for _what_ no one was willing to voice. When his name was finally uttered, Flynn was so tightly wound that he nearly jumped in his seat.

"This is the document that Yuri found, yes?" Judith slid the paper, creased where it had been folded, across the table. "What do you think it means?"

Flynn frowned thoughtfully, scanning the words. He hadn't had much of a chance to look at it, after everything that had happened. It described a location, citing it as ideal for storing large quantities of…something. There were also oblique references to the difficulty of escaping such a place, with its thick walls and underground chambers, an implication of prisoners that made Flynn's stomach sour. But it was the final passage that leapt off the page in the most startling fashion. No one would know of this place without intimate knowledge of the Empire's inner workings.

"They mean to storm the armory in Desier. Likely this place is meant to store weapons, explosives. And the unlucky ones who survive the attack." He handed the paper back, more calmly than he felt.

Judith blinked. "You're certain."

"Fairly, yes. The armory isn't public knowledge, meant for war and emergencies, but obviously it isn't beyond their capabilities to root it out. This location they describe, however; I'm not sure where—"

Flynn was interrupted as everyone turned at the sound of the dining room door swinging open. Flushed and wide-eyed, Karol took a shaky breath as all eyes watched him expectantly.

"It's all over town," he said, obviously unsure where to begin. "Guys, where's Yuri?"

No longer simply a sour discomfort, Flynn's stomach churned with dread. He closed his eyes for a moment, wishing fervently for the impossible. At Judith's gentle coaxing, Karol spoke and confirmed what everyone in the room had known since daybreak, but hadn't been willing to own.

"Merle Dar is dead. Murdered." Karol paused, though no one looked particularly shocked by the announcement. "They found him in the library, when someone complained that it hadn't opened yet. Um. H-he was…"

The boy looked shaken, and Flynn wondered if he had actually seen the body. As he watched Judith move to comfort him, asking soft questions while Raven listened with one of those introspective expressions that belied his typical antics, Flynn had a sudden need to be away from there. He ascended the stairs and started toward his room, when a flash of intuition stopped him with his fingers just brushing the handle. Turning in the hall, he strode forward until he reached Yuri's room and flung open the door.

Seated on his bed, Yuri lifted his head as the doorknob struck the wall with a dull thump. He raised a dispassionate eyebrow and then returned to what he had been doing, which seemed to involve rooting around in a bag at his feet.

"What were you thinking?" As questions went, it was completely inadequate, but Flynn didn't know where else to begin. He frowned at the bag, where Yuri was stuffing marginally folded items of clothing. "What are you doing?"

"You already know the answer to the first question, Flynn. You just don't like it." Yuri's voice was flat. He wouldn't look at him. "And I'm packing."

A sense of déjà vu washed over Flynn, but he shook his head, numb dismay quickly being replaced with anger and disappointment.

"If I were still a knight," he said, feeling fingers curl into a fist, "it would be my duty to treat you as a criminal. As a citizen of the Empire, it would still be within my rights to bring you in."

Yuri snorted. "But you won't," he said, rolling a shirt haphazardly and tucking it into a corner of his bag. "If I killed an innocent, maybe. I thought you accepted that we had different ideas about justice."

In Yuri's eyes, Flynn was sure he felt that Merle Dar didn't deserve a trial or even to rot behind bars. It wasn't the first time he had encountered his black and white ideas about justice, by any means. But he had thought—hoped—that his influence as Commandant, combating corruption in the Knights and, to what extent that he could, the Council, would end this.

"You can't just take these things into your own hands."

"Seems to work out alright," said Yuri, accompanied by one of his infuriating shrugs.

"You _shouldn't_. That isn't how things work. There are consequences."

Yuri let out a breath that was almost a laugh, not quite a sigh. "I know. That's why I'm leaving."

"No."

He looked up then, meeting Flynn's gaze. "No?"

"Did you even get any information out of Merle Dar before you killed him?"

Yuri's mouth twitched and he looked away.

"That's what I thought. What purpose did it serve? Tell me, Yuri. Did it bring Lucas back?"

The next piece of clothing got thrown in the bag, crumpled. The questions went unanswered.

"It wasn't _just_ illegal. It was irresponsible and rash. You can't make decisions like that for all of us. That man could have been the key to bringing down the entire operation. So what was this, Yuri. Vengeance? Did it feel good?"

After a moment, Yuri pushed the bag away, looking back up at him. "I told you. That's why I'm leaving. It doesn't fix anything, I know. But I don't regret it." His eyes flashed darkly, as if back in that moment for an instant.

"You can do what you want, Yuri. But I'm the one that's leaving. If you care about me at all, you will stay here and clean up the mess that you've made."

Yuri went very still, though Flynn knew him well enough to detect deep surprise in his body language.

"Huh. And where are you going?"

"Sorry," said Flynn. "That's a secret. I can't have you involved anymore, Yuri. Honestly, I'm not sure why I thought it was a good idea in the first place."

"Well, that's what I was trying to tell you." Yuri had closed off, impossible to read. He smirked, though it lacked much warmth or mischief. "Still want me now?"

Flynn's breath quickened at the subject so lightly broached after several days of avoidance. And despite the gravity of Yuri's actions, a repeat of the very thing that had grieved his friend in the past, he knew that the idiot had only done it because he leapt before looking, because he had cared so deeply for the boy, because every cell of his being had an instinct to get at the root of a problem without examining what it might cost.

It did not absolve him of guilt. Flynn was still angry, wished they had not lost a source of information. He still could not stay. But something flickered in Yuri's eyes, if for only a moment. Something like fear, maybe doubt.

Flynn stepped forward and swept a hand along Yuri's cheek in something like a caress.

"Yes," he said.

Then he turned away and left the room, letting the door close silently. Flynn would have to leave soon— to have the strength to do what was necessary, to turn his anger into action, to put enough distance between them.

* * *

A/N: So, it's been about a month since the last chapter, you say? *coughs* Obviously a bunch of circumstances contributed to this, including and not limited to: writing gift fics for my writing journal, bad moods, visiting cousins, lack of inspiration and not wanting to write about death and murder during Christmas. Heh. But I hope you like the new chapter. It's a different story arc in some ways from this point, though rest assured that there will be more Yuri/Flynn interaction, despite their separation at the moment.


	22. Amends

**22. Amends**

Farewells at Brave Vesperia headquarters were strange. Although Flynn's time there amounted to less than a month, their pursuit of Liberty's Fist had somehow elongated time and also compressed it, made it seem as if they had been doing this forever, as if he had only just arrived. At the door, he got firm handshakes from Raven and Karol—the boy's eyes were grave and respectful, and Flynn couldn't help thinking that he didn't even have to pretend to seem grown-up, even if at other times he behaved like a typical energetic thirteen-year-old. A year younger than Lucas had been, but undoubtedly with more world experience from being on his own in Dahngrest from an early age, bouncing from guild to guild until he had literally stumbled upon Yuri and Estellise.

Flynn cleared his mind of this somewhat melancholic line of thought as Judith approached next, wrapping him in an embrace that made him wonder what it might have been like to grow up with a sister, to tease him affectionately and give him advice, whether he asked for it or not. He was glad that he had been given the chance to get to know the Krityan better, understood now why Yuri had trusted her.

_Keep an eye on him_, Flynn wanted to say. But the words stuck in his throat; he didn't trust it to come out right in this moment. Judith would surely know already.

"Good luck," she said. He nodded, a bit stiffly, and turned to go. Yuri wouldn't see him off. They hadn't spoken since the encounter in his room, merely coexisted as Flynn made his preparations. And really, it was better that way.

Thinking back, Flynn felt that perhaps in joining forces with Yuri and the others, he had stepped back too much, allowing others to make decisions that he should have made alone. It had begun in the Union headquarters, and while Flynn had mended that situation as much as possible, it had been a sign of trouble he had chosen to ignore. Hadn't he been the one to work tirelessly in his climb to the highest rank in the Knights? It was Flynn, not Yuri, who fought to change laws that distributed taxes unevenly in the Lower Quarter, for example. This situation needed firm action, not skulking in the shadows. It needed a careful hand, but not hesitation.

These thoughts Flynn carried with him as he traveled on foot out of the city, bag only slightly heavier for the new clothing he had purchased, and packages of food Judith insisted he take with him. The tuxedo he left hanging in the guest room's wardrobe—where he was going, he would not need it. It was evidence of a waking nightmare, better off left behind.

Patches of light flickered in the grass as heavy gray cloudbanks covered the sun. In the distance, the sky boiled dark blue and charcoal, promising rain by afternoon. Flynn hoped to be on a ship by then, but otherwise would need to find shelter. Each time the rains arrived, they seemed even more determined to wash the region away, lashing trees and buildings with a relentless deluge driven by the screaming wind. The city's walls provided an extra layer of protection against monsters, but before the blastia barrier stopped working their primary function was to keep the rain-swollen river from leaping its banks and flooding the streets of Dahngrest.

Despite the threat of looming storm clouds, armed men and women huddled in groups at each of the city's entrances, conversing among themselves while keeping their eyes on the forest borders and the horizon. It was a familiar sight of recent months, though these wore the mismatched armor of the guilds rather than the knight uniforms of guards in cities under Imperial control. They did not even look up as Flynn passed, nodding to them in greeting—which was just as well, considering that if they recognized him he was likely to be met with disdain at best.

Walking for half an hour brought him within view of three neat rows of dark green canvas tents, doubtless empty this late in the morning. At the far end of the encampment, Estellise's pink hair stood out like a beacon, her hands clasped behind her back as she watched something that Flynn couldn't see from where he stood. He slipped between the tents halfway down a row until he had an angle on what she was observing. Flynn had been able to hear the guttural shouts and clanging metal before, but now they burst into view, pairs of knights honing technique and reflexes as they swung at each other with spear or broadsword, raising shields so that the steel thumped solidly against painted wood. Tor stood watching, arms crossed and legs planted apart, shouting encouragement or reprimand as he saw fit. He had, Flynn was rather surprised to discover, taken to his new rank of leadership with no small amount of confidence and grace.

Yet this was no time to be admiring the discipline and talent of the knights. Flynn had come here for a very specific reason—a great deal was riding on how these next few moments played out. Striding into the clearing, he squared his shoulders and dismissed a foolish wish that he could be riding a mount or wearing his armor. These things had not made him Commandant, had not been what won him the respect of the men and women who served the Empire. It was his force of will, his _belief_ in what could be accomplished, and those things were immaterial. They could never be stripped away.

As eyes turned and weapons stilled at Flynn's appearance, the word 'treason' beat like a pulse in his mind. Inevitable. For all the Council's corruption, he would never have believed he could be driven to this. They had tossed him out, but Flynn wasn't done. He lifted his chin as his gaze swept over the knights, spoke in a firm voice the question that he should have had the courage to ask from the beginning.

"Knights of the Empire. Are you mine?" The words rang out deep and sharp, carried by the wind that was growing stronger as the dark clouds drew near. And there was silence; Flynn's heart leapt into his throat despite himself, feeling the gravity of what he asked. Yet he remained standing before them on the short grass of the field, back straight and hands open.

Perhaps he did not wait long, though the moment was torturous beyond nearly anything else he had experienced. It was unclear how it began, but as Flynn watched, weapons changed hands to free the arm necessary to cross a chest in salute, fists curled and eyes fixed on him. Some were slower to move, perhaps encouraged by the action of others or even not wanting to seem like the one disloyal individual, but it didn't matter. In the end, all fifteen of the knights had acknowledged their respect.

"Yes, _sir_," someone said, and was quickly echoed with loud voices scattered around the clearing. Tor, still in salute with the others, nodded to him with a hint of a smile.

Flynn felt as if he could sag to the ground with relief, but this was a new kind of danger. Obviously he could not take up a public role of leadership—the Empire had eyes everywhere, and legally Sodia was now the Commandant. Execution was a very real threat if he was discovered influencing the knights, and by the same token their compliance could at best cost them their ranks, with imprisonment likely. Flynn did not relish putting any of them in such a difficult position. Only his belief that the extremists could not be allowed to continue threatening the peace and safety of the Empire's citizens kept him from dismissing the idea as too great a risk.

Even so, Flynn's spirits were buoyed by the support of those he had fought alongside and had led. They would also know what this meant, and if this small group still held loyalty to him, there would almost certainly be others. Perhaps he had needed the help of Yuri and his friends to get back on his feet, to get his bearings after the world shifted beneath him. For the first time since Noran had sneered at him in the castle chamber, Flynn felt as if he were exactly where he was supposed to be.

"At ease," he said, the words soft-edged but loud enough to reach every ear. Some of the men, relaxing, broke out into quiet, nervous laughter, and Flynn had to fight it back from bubbling up within himself. He had always said of Yuri that he was truly a knight at heart, never thinking that the assertion could mean so much in his own life.

The rank was important; Flynn had no illusions about that. Following a man without a title could never last. He only hoped that it would be enough—for all the tension, this had been the easy part. The knights stood in a ring around him, waiting for illegal orders from their leader in exile. They would never see him so much as flinch, though everything hung in the balance.

* * *

Estelle was completely unprepared when Tor swept into the command tent—a grin spreading across his face, he lifted her by the waist and swung her around. Her skirts flared as she was spun in a circle and set back down, gloved hands still resting along her hips. Tor laughed into a kiss, then pulled back beaming.

"Did you see? This changes everything, Stella." The words came out in a breathless rush, and Estelle barely resisted looking over at the collapsible chair where Rita had been reading before he came in. She loved Tor's effusive displays of affection, but considering the damaged relationship with her friend, it also made her chest tighten uncomfortably.

"Yes, I did." She forced a smile, though she truly was excited about Flynn's appearance. "It's wonderful."

After the heart-stopping moment when the knights had demonstrated their support, Estelle felt as if it wasn't her place to listen in on their plans and had retreated to the large tent where she and Rita had been given quarters partitioned off for their privacy. She had immediately explained the situation as best as she understood it, but since Rita didn't look up from her research Estelle wasn't even sure if she had been listening. It made her chew her lip with worry.

"Hey." Tor gently lifted her chin with a finger. "Is there something wrong?"

Estelle shook her head, but could tell that he didn't believe her.

"Alright. You can talk about it later, if you want. But you should be happy!" This was punctuated by a finger lightly poking at her side, and another grin. "I have a feeling that things are starting to turn around."

The sound of a book closing pulled their gazes off of each other and toward Rita, who regarded them blandly, arms crossed.

"Flynn's a popular guy, all right," she said. "Geez, when Estelle and I first met, he was all she would talk about."

Estelle felt her eyes go wide. What was Rita doing? Yes, she had a bit of a crush on Flynn when he was kind to her in the castle, and was very concerned for his well-being when she arrived in Aspio looking for him, but what did that have to do with the present?

"Really," said Tor, and Estelle waved her hands in front of him to indicate that it wasn't how it sounded. His expression had gone thoughtful—she wished fervently that he would just laugh it off, but knew him well enough to realize that he wouldn't. Even if she could convince him that it was an infatuation stuck firmly in the past, his inferiority complex was bad enough without complicating it with someone that had the qualities of _Flynn_.

It would be so much easier to convince Tor that his leader was no competition if he knew what Judith had related to Estelle the night before. But that wasn't her place to tell. Instead, she smiled up at him, not having to force herself at all this time.

"Flynn was my first real friend," she admitted, "and I had to find him and warn him, so he wouldn't get hurt. I guess I might have overdone it…a little."

Rita snorted, looking away. This explanation seemed to mollify Tor somewhat, though the issue was unlikely to be closed entirely.

"We're going to strike camp soon and head back to the ship," he said, as if that had been what he had come in to tell them in the first place. And maybe it was. "I know it must seem odd, since we've only just arrived, but Flynn had information that puts us ahead of the Council. So gather your things, we need to be ready to leave as soon as everything is packed away."

When he ducked back out of the tent, leaving Rita and Estelle by themselves, the mage started to rise from her chair, book in hand.

"Rita…" At Estelle's voice, soft and questioning, she sat back down. "What you said, about Flynn…"

"Huh? Oh, that." Rita waved a hand through the air as if to dispel the comment's importance. "Well, it's true, isn't it?"

Estelle pursed her lips. Part of her wanted to let this go; surely Rita didn't mean anything bad by bringing up that memory in front of Tor. Yet the part of her that had been learning why people did things, why they sometimes hurt each other on purpose, made her doubtful.

"Please," she said, voice going high and nearly breaking despite her best efforts. "Rita, I'm so sorry."

Rita's expression was like that of an animal caught in a bright light, wishing very much to flee yet rooted to that spot. She stared at Estelle with wide green eyes, mouth half open as if to respond, but said nothing.

It was suddenly all more than Estelle could take. She knelt in front of Rita, grasped for one of her hands and held it between hers. With eyes blurring, Estelle wasn't entirely aware of what she was saying in a choked-out stream of words, except that Rita was her best friend and could never be replaced by Tor and had every right to be angry with her. Eventually, she lifted her head when Rita started pulling her hand free. The mage was looking off to the side, muttering under her breath. When she turned back to Estelle, a blush colored her cheeks.

"S-stop that. Don't be ridiculous." She crossed her arms again, but her face had softened. It was so close to the Rita whose company she so enjoyed, who worried about her, that it was all Estelle could do not to fling her arms around her in relief. Instead she stood, rubbing at moist eyes with the back of her hand.

"I promise," she said gravely, "I'll never keep anything from you ever again."

"You don't have to make any promises like that." Rita huffed out a breath. "Just…stop crying, okay?"

Estelle nodded and attempted a smile, so tremulous and fleeting that Rita made a noise of disapproval.

"You call that a smile? You can do better than that."

Her friend looked so indignant that Estelle couldn't help a giggle from slipping free; she clamped a hand over her mouth, but that only seemed to make it worse.

Rita looked confused, but her lips curved up softly. "Much better," she said, and suddenly, Estelle felt that everything really was.

* * *

The storm clouds lingering over Cyrus's shoulder, heavy with moisture from lifting above the mountains north of Caer Bocram, made midday look more like deep twilight. The dark sky swallowed thick coils of smoke, which in turn blotted out an anemic sun whenever the cloud cover thinned enough for it to appear. Compared to this grim, monochromatic landscape, the fire stood out with eye-wrenching brilliance.

The pyre had been burning long enough to permeate Cyrus's lungs and clothing with acrid smoke, causing him to cough compulsively every few seconds—but he refused to move away. His eyes watered and burned until it was impossible to tell if the tears rolling down his cheeks were of emotion or physical discomfort. What he did know was that his little brother—his body, at least—shouldn't be turning to ash as he stood watching. He was exhausted, sleepless, empty of thought after countless hours of cataloguing all that could have been done differently. Shouldn't have taken him from Mantaic. Shouldn't have left him alone in Zaphias. Shouldn't have.

The guilt was unbearable, impossible to carry around with him at every moment and still be numbered among the living. So his mind went blank, letting his senses take over, memorizing this moment even as he wished to be anywhere else at all. It wasn't so bad, Cyrus noted distantly, that the smoke made it so difficult to breathe—he didn't think he could even if he had wanted to.

Sparks and ash drifted through the air, wood and flesh indistinguishable, which was in itself a blessing. That body had never been Lucas; it just looked like him. Cyrus had avoided spending much time lingering on it as he made the necessary preparations over the past couple of days. The flames leapt, and so did his emotions as his mind began to thaw from its numbness, oscillating from disbelief to anger to stabbing anguish and back again. He almost didn't hear the footfalls behind him, not until a voice shook him loose into reality like glass breaking.

"The storm nears us," said Mira. She pulled a thin shawl of dark lace more firmly around her arms and shoulders—a mockery; as if she could grieve for anyone, much less a boy she hardly knew existed.

"It will burn," Cyrus responded flatly, turning back toward the pyre. "A little rain won't make a difference."

Mira chuckled dryly, and Cyrus hated her in that moment for intruding on his private grief, for making even the most humorless sound of laughter near his brother's funeral pyre.

"Have you ever experienced a spring storm in Dahngrest, desert man? 'A little rain.' Hm. As descriptions go, that hardly _begins_ to do it justice."

Cyrus scowled into the flame, ignoring the cool drops beginning to speckle on his skin. What needed to burn likely had already, but he had wanted to let the fire run its course for a while longer. He had never expected something like this to happen so far from home—traditionally, bodies were laid to rest in a family crypt, dug into the stone near the Weasand of Cados. Cyrus would not be able to pay tribute to his brother's memory in the way of Mantaic; neither would he allow his body to rot in this region's damp soil. The fire was a dry heat that he could understand, rippling around him like the warmest day of a desert summer. Now the rains would wash it all away, almost as if Lucas had never been. Already he could hear the black wood hissing, steam rising with the smoke.

"Leave me," he said, but the command was weakened by a sudden fit of coughing. Mira's fingers curled around his shoulder, gentle despite the long, painted nails. He turned his head, flinching as she brought a hand up to smooth strands of dark hair that had escaped the strip of leather tying it back.

She was not smiling as she pulled away, retreating to the doorway of the estate. The rain had begun in earnest, driven at an angle by the wind. "You should come inside. It will become much worse soon."

Cyrus said nothing, gaze fixed on the flames, knowing that they would not last long in this downpour. His clothes were already soaked through, heavy and sodden. He heaved a breath that came more easily as the smoke cleared, wishing he had the privacy to say something that would honor Lucas and also unsure that there was anything left to say. Yet as the fire died, his anger burned more hotly. Cyrus's hand closed into a fist.

"You do know why he died," he heard Mira say softly, "don't you? Remember who is truly responsible."

_I am_, a part of Cyrus wanted to say. But this was pointless, tangential. Self-flagellation would accomplish nothing. He had loved his brother and done everything that he could think of to take care of him. Even if that hadn't been enough, it remained true that nothing _he_ had done had placed Lucas in front of the blade that killed him.

Out of the mental fog that he had plunged into on learning of his brother's death came realization. Lucas had only been in the wrong place at the wrong time because of those people who had manipulated him, loyal to the Empire and playing off of his naïveté. And that man at the ball who had carried Lucas in his arms was almost certainly one of them. Cyrus felt himself tense up; if he had not been so distraught, perhaps he could have enacted vengeance right then. The man had been completely defenseless. The regret he had predicted settled upon him swiftly.

"I know," he said, more to himself than to Mira. Cyrus turned, mouth set in a hard line, and strode through the doorway without looking at her. He was not a man to repeat mistakes, and this was one he intended to remedy if it killed him. After all, he did not have much left to lose.

* * *

A/N: I definitely love me some Leader!Flynn. One of my favorite moments from the game is when he rides up in Dahngrest to stop the misunderstanding between the Empire and the guilds. It's also one of the most ridiculous parts _not_ to be voiced in the 360 version. Ah well, it's still awesome, though. :D

Also, Glass Fortress has hit the 200 reviews mark! *throws confetti* (Totally wasn't waiting until then to post the chapter or anything; that's a coincidence.) I just wanted to take a moment to say how much I appreciate every single person that reviews. Getting to share in your enthusiasm for this story is a huge encouragement; I feel lucky to have so many people who review just about every chapter, and the ones who review more sporadically are greatly appreciated as well. You're awesome and hilarious and half the reason this story is still going—I have a lot of personal motivation to complete it, but it might take a lot longer without feedback and the knowledge that others want to read the next chapter as much as I want to write it. So anyway, thanks!


	23. Intentions

**23. Intentions**

"Woah, Yuri. H-hang on, I can't—"

Karol swung his oversized sword up to block Yuri's rapid-fire attacks, eyes wide and feet sliding back inch by inch on the rug until it bunched up in folds behind him. The wide blade began to falter a little as Yuri pressed harder, so he dashed away and gave the kid some breathing room, a chance to put them back on equal footing. He could have ended it there, knocked the sword away without much effort, but that wasn't the point. Yuri _needed_ this. Too much energy to burn, too many thoughts and regrets to chase away. If he had to do it in the headquarters' lounge, nearly knocking over candles and decorative fixtures in the process, so be it. With a sword in his hand, his mind was clear.

When Karol regained his bearings, he made to rush at Yuri and feinted left at the last moment. Whirling around to compensate for the misdirection, Yuri barely had time to slip his sword up between himself and the other weapon. He smirked at Karol over their crossed blades.

"Hey, that was pretty good. Did I teach you that?"

The boy laughed incredulously. "You don't remember?"

"Nah, I'm drawing a blank. But you didn't learn it from the Hunting Blades, I can tell you that much."

Still keeping his sword locked against Yuri's, Karol hunched his shoulders defiantly and lifted his chin. It would have been intimidating on just about anyone else. He scowled at Yuri's deepening smirk.

"Maybe I did."

The snort of amusement that Yuri couldn't stop from slipping free would tell Karol all he needed to know about _that_ claim, but he also couldn't help needling him just a little more.

"Hmm, let's see. I seem to remember this weird kid, hiding in the bushes and yelling something about an eggbear. Now, how did that go again…?"

"_Yuri!_"

Their sparring resumed on that note, but Karol was distracted and let Yuri disarm him only a few minutes later. Yuri was beginning to feel fatigue set in, anyway, so it was probably better than exhausting himself. That's what someone responsible would say, at least, but there wasn't anyone around anymore to hassle him about it. He hadn't yet decided if that was a good thing or not.

Breath and pulse quickened, Yuri slumped down onto the couch and tilted his head back against the cushions. He let his eyes slip closed and could hear Karol's retreating footsteps, the door swinging shut. And no matter what activity he chose to avoid it, sparring or sleeping or running around in the rain, it all came back to an accusing blue stare and sword-callused fingertips on his cheek. Yuri felt his brow furrow and the corners of his mouth pull down. He tried to will his mind blank. It didn't work very well.

"Still sulking, are we?"

It had to say something about Yuri's mental state that he didn't notice Judy's presence until she was standing in front of him, voice playful yet serene. Ignoring the accusation, he let a moment of quiet fall between them, no sound other than the growing fury of the storm as it threw an endless barrage of rain against the windows.

"Of course," she finally said. "I must be mistaken. Yuri Lowell never sulks."

Yuri sighed, shaking his head. "Do we have to do this?"

Judy tilted her head as if she had no idea what he could be talking about, but the small smile playing across her lips said otherwise.

"Well, he's only been gone for two days, so that can't be what has you moping about."

She stretched, lifting her arms languidly above her head. A thought seemed to occur to her, mid-stretch. "I don't suppose he kissed you."

That got her a flat look. Geez, no one could accuse Judy of being subtle. She let out a long, world-weary breath.

"That's a pity. Well, I've done my best with what I have to work with. It's really too bad Estelle had to leave so soon."

Yuri arched a brow, wondering what that had to do with anything. He did suspect that the Krityan was behind that ill-fated dinner date he'd been tricked into, and he didn't appreciate being manipulated. Especially not when he'd already made his decision. Hadn't the fallout from dealing with Merle Dar proven that this had "bad idea" written all over it?

"Even if someone wants something, that doesn't always mean that they should have it." The quiet words were directed at the ceiling as Yuri leaned back against the couch again. Judy made a soft, thoughtful noise.

"Perhaps. But aren't we the usually the worst judges of what we deserve?"

She exited the room as swiftly as she had arrived, gliding out the door by the time that Yuri lifted his head. He looked at Repede, lying on his usual spot on the rug, a silent witness to this madness.

"Women, huh. Can you believe that?"

Repede regarded him for a moment with his good eye, and somehow his expression could only be described as skeptical.

Yuri coughed out a laugh and then shrugged, defeated. That dog was really too smart for his own good sometimes. And knew him too well.

"…Yeah. I know."

* * *

_when I am wrapped in fresh linen, your scent_

_is sharp, dark like daggers and promises_

_broken. behind my eyes you want, say yes,_

_a dream that scatters with the sun._

The scritch of an ink pen interrupted the flow as it scribbled across the page, obliterating everything that had been written. Flynn rested his elbows on the desk, shaking his head. This was no good at all. He had started at least a dozen poems by now, and none of them were having the cathartic effect that he had hoped for. Nothing to show for it but a page and a half of crossed out words and a headache.

Leaving Yuri behind was the right thing to do. This had become a kind of mantra for him, repeated in his mind until one day he might believe it. But like the storm that they had managed to outrace but that still churned the sea around them, distance didn't release Yuri's hold on him. Flynn paused at the thought, tapping the other end of the pen against his lips. Could that somehow be worked into a poem? He jotted down a few ideas that weren't completely abysmal, but ran dry again not long after. With a sigh, he set the pen back in its stand. The sheets of paper were folded and tucked away into a safe place in his cabin—Flynn never copied a poem into his book until it was complete and he was relatively satisfied with it, or else the volume would be an unreadable mess.

He rolled his shoulders, realizing that he had been hunched over his desk for far too long. By the position of the sun, several hours had passed since he had last looked out the small round window. This also meant that it had been a significant amount of time since he had last eaten, a fact his stomach was kind enough to remind him once he had dragged himself out of a writing daze. Flynn shook his head, wondering if Estellise ever had this problem.

The storeroom was on the next deck of the ship, down a set of stairs and a long hallway. It contained tins of the Knights' sea rations, moisture resistant and barely palatable, but one didn't join up for the fine cuisine. Flynn had gotten used to it, after a fashion. On his way there, he heard some of the men in Tor's unit sparring and stopped to observe from the doorway. After only a few moments, he stepped forward and plucked a spear out of a slack-jawed man's hand.

"Watch me," he said, and without waiting for the man to respond Flynn faced his sparring partner and dropped into a defensive stance. The opponent didn't miss a beat, swinging into a light attack that Flynn blocked easily. Glancing back the spear's original owner, he did not see an expression of understanding.

"You're blocking too wide," Flynn explained. "Throwing your weapon out like this leaves you open to attack if the enemy is very quick, not to mention the negative effect on your balance. Who taught you this method? I am only curious. You're not the only person in this room I've noted making this mistake."

The man looked down at his feet, then raised his eyes again when he realized it wasn't only him being called out. "Sir Adecor. He was the one who showed us."

Flynn winced inwardly; Adecor wasn't a bad knight, but not the one to look to for exemplary poise and form. While he and Sir Boccos did not entirely deserve their reputations of buffoonery, Yuri's nicknames for the pair sometimes sprung to mind at the most inopportune times, such as when Flynn was addressing them as Commandant. Fortunately, it had not slipped out. Yet.

He scanned the room, realizing that he had stepped back into a teaching and leading role automatically. They seemed to accept it despite his lack of official authority, a fact for which he continued to be astonished and grateful.

"Remember to only block what is an immediate threat to you. Be ready to face the next strike, or make one of your own. There are two sides to every battle; defense is all-important in sparring, but in a real fight you need to take your opponent down."

Flynn left them to practice, a chorus of 'yes, sir' rising around him. Not that he considered himself the ultimate authority on fighting technique by any stretch of the imagination, but it still disturbed him to know that they were being taught stances that could get them killed. Another reminder of why he so desperately wanted to regain his rank in the Knights.

The door to the storeroom was open when Flynn arrived, and a voice drifted out from within, listing off what sounded like wine vintages.

"Lissel. Isn't that the vineyard not far from Heliord? I hear they make a mean merlot. Not sure what's considered a good year, though…"

Flynn paused at the door, amused by the scene but still hungry enough to interrupt.

"Altiren."

Tor turned at Flynn's voice, bottle in hand. He froze for a moment, then grinned sheepishly.

"What are we celebrating?" Flynn nodded, indicating the wine.

"…What are we…?" Tor's eyes went wide and uncertain. "Ah, sir. I'd be honored to have a drink with you, but, um…this isn't…"

Flynn chuckled. "It's fine. That was meant to be rhetorical. What you do on your downtime as an officer is none of my business."

The knight only relaxed slightly, still caught off guard by Flynn's appearance. He nodded and turned the glass bottle in his hands.

"Ready to see some action again?"

Tor blinked at him for a moment in confusion, and Flynn wasn't sure he wanted to know what the man _thought _he was talking about.

"Oh. As much as anyone can ever be, I suppose. It will be a high-risk mission, lots of unknowns. But I'm glad to have you with us, sir." He moved to salute, realized that hand was holding the wine, and nodded his head solemnly as a sort of compromise.

Flynn smiled. "I am glad to be here. Now, I think there's a tin of atrocious food with my name on it. If you will excuse me."

As he headed for the food stores, the other man wasted no time in making his exit. On a hunch, Flynn called out into the seemingly empty room.

"You can come out now, Estellise."

From behind a barrel came a squeak of surprise, a blur of skirts and pink hair rushing past him and out the door.

* * *

Somewhere in the city, the commoners were dragging tree limbs off of rooftops, sweeping debris from storefronts, mending broken windows. The storm had raged and done its damage, but the citizens of Dahngrest sprang into action to put it back together not long after the gusting wind had settled. One nice thing about being wealthy, Mira mused, was that while she knew similar tasks were underway at the estate, she didn't have to see or bother herself with it. That was the province of servants and gardeners. This left her mind free to focus on more meaningful goals, both her own ambitions and the overarching needs of the Fist. Looking back on the years of slow but steady progress that led her to the position she now held in the organization, Mira shuddered to think how different her life might have been as a common laborer. Dirty nails, long hours, no silk. She did not believe she could bear it.

The walkway was still dark with moisture, the air thick with a scent that was earthy and oddly metallic. As Mira made her way toward the waiting coach—another indispensable luxury—a servant with an umbrella kept the drizzle from touching her hair. Another stood at the open door, offering a gloved hand to steady her as she stepped up into her seat. The curtains had been drawn; once inside, Mira had to blink until her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

The coach jolted into motion, pulled by a pair of long-domesticated reptilian creatures, surprisingly elegant and graceful despite a double row of sharp teeth. An indistinct patch of black opposite of Mira resolved into a familiar dark-cloaked figure, and she prided herself in keeping still and impassive, hands folded in her lap.

"Lady Mira," it said, in the characteristically understated manner of the Nameless. She inclined her head in acknowledgment.

The veil of fabric that served for a face rippled ever so slightly with each breath; with all the humidity in the air, it had to be stifling. Naturally, Mira had never observed discomfort in all her meetings with these messengers. She saw them more than most, yet they still disturbed her. Unnatural. There was no movement from the other side of the coach, only a heavy silence that Mira resisted filling with questions.

"He is ever watching," said the Nameless, in a tone that carried an implication of _you know this. _"Your success is to be commended."

This had a similar ring to her last encounter with these beings and was typical of their methods in general; start with whatever praise or reprimand that is warranted, and then to business. Mira said nothing.

"Seeds of division have been sown within our enemies. The traitor has been eliminated. All according to the plan you had been given. You have laid the foundation for Liberty's Fist to begin the next phase of our leader's vision."

The Nameless had the same low, rasping voice, the same economy of words and syntax, but Mira couldn't help noticing that this one's speech used more metaphor and imagery. There was also something about how it carried itself, even beneath thick folds of dark cloth—she felt that this one might be a woman. The impression was more intuition than observation, yet it struck her with some force nonetheless, and suddenly Mira was set on edge. Men could be very dangerous, true, but they tended to be unsubtle, relying on muscle and intimidation. But women? They were a knife dug deep in your back as they smiled.

Mira catalogued this new information and pushed it down; her curiosity had been piqued by that last statement. The Nameless One seemed to wait for a response. "I imagine," she said lightly, "that I am to be told of my part in this vision, yes?"

That cloaked head dipped smoothly. "The Fist has no need of Dahngrest at this time."

They must have noticed the expression of shock and protest that Mira was unable to prevent, as they were unusually quick to speak again.

"It does have need of you, however. He finds your methods…satisfying. And most effective."

An intriguing revelation, that. The Fist leader was not normally so forthcoming with things like admiration. Praise for a task well-done, yes. Not so much when dealing with a preference for specific individuals. This, Mira felt, was a personal victory of sorts. She allowed a satisfied smile to curve on her lips.

"I am listening."

"You will settle your affairs in this city and make the necessary travel preparations." Ah, there was that Nameless attitude. Assumptive and direct. "Choose someone to hold the estate in your stead. You should arrive in Zaphias by the end of the week after next. As leader of that city's cell, Cyrus will accompany you."

Leader? Mira's mouth twisted; Cyrus had informed her of Jules's sudden end, but had neglected to mention that little fact. Small wonder. He was relatively new to the organization, compared to many members who could boast of years or even decades of service. Knowledge of such a high position could breed resentment from those who felt more worthy—like Mira. The Fist's leader would know how she coveted that place, and having it abruptly open only to be denied once more…well, it honestly stung.

"Yes. I understand," she said, forcing the words through tightened lips. The coach, which had been clattering steadily over the rain-slicked cobblestones, began to slow. Mira lifted one edge of the nearest curtain to find that they had circled back around to the estate. She had been summoned and reacted with swift obedience, but apparently this conversation was the full purpose of that order. The Nameless One did not speak again, so Mira left its presence without words. The coach pulled away at nearly the same moment as her feet touched the ground.

So it was Zaphias, then. She did not relish the thought of not being the one in control, it ran against her nature. Yet surely, if their leader was so pleased with her recent success in Dahngrest, she was not being punished. Mira thought on this as she returned to her chambers, needing calm and quiet more than ever. She looked in the mirror, saw what men must see. Full lips, high cheekbones, smooth curves. It was a card she liked to play, one that had not worked with Yuri Lowell. That had not been seduction, but trickery. She would not make that mistake again.

But what of Cyrus. Attractive, lean and swarthy—a bit short, but that was no matter. If Mira could lure him into her bed, then perhaps she would not need to be named leader of Zaphias in truth. It would be the same, only with a different angle of influence. At any rate, it was something to consider.

"Satisfying," she said quietly into the mirror with a predatory smile. Mira liked the way that sounded.

* * *

A/N: …I don't like these three week gaps, but the plot/characters are getting complicated enough that this may become typical. Sometimes certain points of view simply do not cooperate until I figure out what's wrong with what I'm trying to get them to do/think/say. At any rate, hope everyone enjoys this installment! Happy Super Bowl to those who watch American football, haha. (Also to note, the poetry excerpt isn't supposed to be crap necessarily, just perceived as such by Mr. Perfectionist Flynn, so if I get a review that's like "hahaha, that _is_ awful," I'll be kind of sad. XD Getting to write a little bit of Yuri/Flynn poetry was surprisingly fun.)


	24. Company

**24. Company**

When they disembarked after another long journey on the rocky shores of the arid continent of Desier, Flynn anticipated a dry, oppressive heat—beating down, making hair and skin warm to the touch. Instead, under a field of bright stars, he shivered. The air still carried a faint scent of the sea on a breeze that made the desert night even cooler. He told himself that the chill would be sorely missed come morning.

Flynn looked up when he felt a blanket draped around his shoulders, met Estellise's warm smile with a grateful one and tugged it closer around himself. It was a little scratchy, obviously handcrafted with tufts of brown and orange wool woven together in uneven stripes. She must have gotten it from one of the villagers. After anchoring the ship, a short march had brought the Knights and their guests to a cluster of stone buildings, scarcely large enough to call a town. The residents had greeted them with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion, but mainly the former. Flynn imagined that these people rarely encountered strangers, both for their remote location in the northwest away from both Mantaic and Nordopolica and the fact that very few people ventured outside the barriers—walls and defenses, now—of their home cities.

"They call this place Tecarr," said Estellise, settling to the ground beside Flynn and hugging her knees. She wore a shawl that she had apparently brought from Halure, and he imagined that living there for these past months had at least somewhat desensitized the princess to cooler temperatures.

"Does that mean something?"

"Mm. Salt-wind, I think. It's very old, a lost dialect." Her eyes took on a dreamy quality, shining with enthusiasm yet also worlds away from the present. "There are so many stories here, Flynn. I hope we stay long enough to hear some of them."

The culture there had certainly provided its share of surprises already; upon approaching one of the villagers with questions concerning possible locations where Liberty's Fist could be hiding out, Tor had been rebuffed—ignored, really. It was only when Estellise asked politely if they could at least be directed to a source of fresh water that the state of things became clear: this village was governed by wise women, many of them elders but others having proven their worth in tests of skill and knowledge. They were baffled by a society who would let a man speak for all, and from that moment would only let Rita and Estellise into their inner circle, much to many of the knights' consternation.

Speaking of. "How is Rita handling all the attention?"

Estellise laughed. "She's embarrassed, I think. Also pleased, though she'd never admit it. Rita might be turning red a lot, but she isn't muttering about wanting to set anything on fire, so… I think she's kind of happy."

She sighed a little—happily, Flynn noted. It was refreshing, really, to remember that even in such dark and uncertain times, after everything that had happened, someone could still keep smiling. Estellise was untouched by the tension and pain of the month that Flynn had spent with Yuri in Dahngrest—she was sad _for_ them, he thought, because her heart overflowed with compassion as easily as breathing. Yet it wasn't the same, and she had much to be happy about: love, deep friendships, an undiminished zeal for new experiences. Perhaps it would do Flynn some good to bask in that glow for a while.

Estellise shifted to peer into his face, leaning around him and scrunching her brow in concern.

"Are you okay? You seem really distant."

"Hm? Yes, I'm…fine."

This time when Estellise expelled a breath, it was with affectionate frustration. "You're not very good at lying, you know."

Flynn shot her a look of amusement. "Oh, are you an expert now?" He regretted the words, meant to point out how unlikely that would be, when he saw her wince—though for what reason, he did not know.

"Forget that; you're right, anyway. Sorry. I was just thinking." Flynn adjusted the blanket as if to somehow draw more warmth out of it. "Perhaps it would be better not to dwell on things that I can't control. Things that have already happened." And things that probably never will, his mind added. His fingers curled into the wool.

Estellise didn't answer, just hummed softly and slid closer after a moment, resting her head on his shoulder. It was easy, like so many other things weren't. Flynn tilted his head, cheek pressed against the soft strands of her hair, silently thankful for a friend who somehow knew exactly what he needed. Estellise didn't pry into his thoughts—Flynn was convinced that with all his lamenting and reminiscing about Yuri in the past, she _must_ have guessed at some point. Instead, their eyes followed the patterns of the stars, invisible lines creating abstract pictures. She had always known the names of so many of them. In moments like this, her newfound birthright as a Child of the Full Moon was never more apt.

A door slammed behind them, causing Estellise to jolt upright despite the platonic nature of their position. Flynn couldn't say that he blamed her; he would be hard-pressed to explain it to any of the knights, Altiren foremost among them. But as they glanced back, it was Rita stalking out of the long building that served as the village's meeting hall. She slumped down on the other side of Estellise, arms crossed tightly against her chest.

"I thought I'd never get out of there," she said. Rita's cheeks were, indeed, quite noticeably tinged with red. Flynn and Estellise shared a quick, private look of knowing amusement—which the mage unfortunately, and perhaps predictably, caught. She scowled.

"What's that all about? You'd better be careful; between that and the cuddling up you two were doing when I came out here, this is how rumors get started." Rita sniffed, glancing around as if to catalogue possible witnesses. The village was all but deserted. Flynn suspected that most, if not all of the residents were in the hall or watching the knights assemble their camp. Nothing quite like novelty.

"Oh, Flynn and I would never—" Estellise began, looking genuinely concerned by the idea that someone might misinterpret their relationship.

"_I_ know that," said Rita, "but _they_ don't."

She shook her head, leaving Flynn to wonder just how much she thought she 'knew.' Time to change the subject, then.

"Now that you've escaped," he said, ignoring both Estellise's stifled laughter and Rita's sour look in response, "did the people of Tecarr provide any helpful information?"

"Yeah, once they were done asking every question known to mankind about 'my people,' like I'm some kind of ambassador. … Hey, cut it out, Estelle. It's not funny."

One hand clamped over her mouth, Estellise made it clear that yes, it _really_ was.

"_Anyway_, apparently there's some ruins nearby that they'll show us in the morning. They don't know anything about the extremists, but parts of this place go underground, so it's probably worth a look, right?"

Flynn agreed that it was. Rita's flippant description belied the way her eyes shone, probably imagining long-abandoned blastia, buried by sand and time. They may not have worked anymore in either case, without the aer to power them, but she had spent most of her young life studying the devices. And one day, she swore, they would work again.

It lifted Flynn's spirits further to have a lead so soon in their search for the extremists' desert hideout. Each step, he felt, brought him closer to a safer Empire, without the threat of bombs and assassinations looming over them like the grotesque Adephagos that had marred the sky. It felt good to act.

An elbow nudged his side gently through the blanket.

"Are you hungry?" said Estellise when he looked at her. By her expression, lips twitched up at the corners, Flynn thought that may not have been the first time she had attempted to ask the question. He nodded.

"Oh, they make this creamy fish stew here. It's wonderful, Flynn, you have to try it."

Before he could reply, Flynn was being yanked up two-handed, laughing as he stumbled after her. Behind them, when he caught a glimpse, Rita made a face at her friend's enthusiastic praise of the local specialty—for once, her disgust was completely unfeigned.

* * *

"Look, all I'm saying is that we've done this before. We took down all those Red Eyes at Leviathan's Claw's manor—do you really think the extremists would be that much more of a challenge?"

Raven leaned back in his chair and laced his hands behind his head. "Maybe not, but we had the Don then ta keep Yeager busy. I'm not volunteerin' ta be the distraction; already had enough second chances for two lifetimes, ya know?"

"Whatever you say, old man. I'm fine with anything as long as it ends with one less Mira in the world."

Yuri didn't think he had to say that he'd prefer to be the one to take her out. The last time he saw the woman replayed in his mind at all hours, that haughtily casual way she had given the order, like she was deciding what to have for lunch… Yuri's fingers twitched toward the hilt of his sword.

On the other side of the table, Karol observed the exchange silently, his own misgivings only evident in the teeth worrying at the side of his thumb.

"You'll never sweep Nan off her feet if she thinks you're still a child," Judy said lightly from her seat beside him.

"What? I'm…I'm not _sucking_ on it."

Karol's eyes widened at the accusation; he scowled when she chuckled at the look on his face. Despite that, the comment seemed to have cheered him somewhat—Nan had recently returned to Dahngrest and it was all the other guild members could do to keep Karol seated for the duration of the meeting.

"Anyway," he continued, "I kind of agree with Raven on this one, Yuri. Look what happened last time, uh…"

The words trailed off uncomfortably, Karol bringing his hand back up as if to resume the anxious gnawing and returning it to his lap just as quickly.

"I know," said Yuri. "It'll be different this time, Karol. I'm done playing Mira's games. We'll bring the fight to her. No masks, no cat and mouse."

Raven scratched the back of his head for a moment. "Ya know, that does sound better than all this sneakin' around."

"That's funny coming from you, old man." Yuri smirked, while Raven affected innocence.

Before any other ideas could be fielded, their meeting was interrupted by a knock at the front door of headquarters, hollow and insistent in the background. Yuri exchanged a look with Judy—they both rose from their seats, leaving the other two to come up with all the things that could go wrong at the estate.

It only took a moment to get from the meeting room to the entryway at the end of the hall. Their visitor didn't knock again. But when Yuri opened the door to a muggy Dahngrest evening, she was smiling…or showing her teeth, at least.

"Give me one good reason not to make you bleed." Yuri's voice was flat and cold—he could feel Judy's hand on his arm, a gentle warning.

"Aww," said Mira, unfazed. "It's so good to see you, too. And if you insist."

She tilted her head toward the street behind her, where a group of children kicked a ball around in the dirt. Several of them were familiar to Yuri, living nearby and often seen playing in the area around this time of day.

"Huh. Maybe I don't care," he said, but his eyes flicked over to a laughing pair of boys, clacking sticks together. One of them looked back and waved at him, then yelped when he caught a blow from the other's makeshift weapon across his shoulder. So much for not participating in Mira's mind games. Yuri clenched his jaw, knowing that she was following his gaze with satisfaction.

"Hmm. I thought not." She tossed her hair, and Yuri briefly thought about doing it anyway, witnesses and traumatized children be damned. That was when he noticed the pale hand gripping a dagger, its carved hilt the same ivory color as her dress. His eyes narrowed.

Mira laughed. "I'm not here to kill you, either. You're still far too useful to me." She ignored the hateful look that was Yuri's response of how he felt about _that_. "Actually, I'm here to do you a favor, in a way."

Judy leaned against the doorframe, raking her eyes critically over the other woman. Yuri didn't miss the way she maneuvered between the redhead and himself.

"Oh? And what makes you think we would want something like that from you?"

"I don't," Mira admitted cheerfully. "But there's no challenge without fair warning. I'm leaving the city; it seems I've been recalled to Zaphias."

There was no point in asking why Mira would come to them with this sort of information. It was enough to know that her every move was calculated, every statement a web of unsettling possibilities. She knew too much, with all her connections—that Yuri would want to follow, that with advance knowledge he could arrive in the capital before her.

"Do with that what you will," she added, and when no further retort was forthcoming she turned and walked away.

The woman would slip up eventually, Yuri knew. All of them did, especially the ones who believed they were untouchable. But until then, he felt like punching something in frustration—no matter what, they were playing into Mira's hands. Her arrogance in coming to their own headquarters to inform them of her next destination; the fact that staying behind in Dahngrest was not an option, at least not for Yuri.

"Change of plans; I hear the capital's nice this time of year."

Judy tapped her lips with a finger. "Is that so…"

"That's what they say. Rains less, too. It's a popular Krityan tourist spot."

Judy arched a violet brow and tsked at him. "So little faith you have. Ba'ul is already on his way."

* * *

When they finally returned from Tecarr, Flynn bid the girls goodnight, Estellise hiding a yawn behind her hand. A quiet darkness had settled over most of the camp, but soft light radiated from the command tent—more like a pavilion, as the desert tents were of a thinner material, not fully enclosed to allow air to circulate during the intense heat of the day. Flynn was surprised to find himself still fairly alert, despite the late hour.

"I was starting to wonder if we should send out a search party, sir." Tor grinned from where he lounged in a chair. He looked like he had been writing something—a letter, maybe—but it had been turned face-down on top of his bag.

Flynn smiled wanly, sinking down into a chair opposite the other man. Fatigue caught up to him without warning; he blinked, resisting scrubbing a hand over his face. He wasn't that out of practice in hiding the signs yet.

Or maybe he was. Tor reached down to retrieve a wooden tray containing a stack of short cups and an unlabeled bottle made from cloudy brown glass.

"The residents might not let me talk to them," said Tor, seeming amused now by this. "But they did make a interesting gift to the Knights. It's yours, sir."

Flynn shook his head; a bottle of anonymous liquor was hardly the sort of thing he would want. "Keep it, Altiren. But thank you."

Tor raised a brow, shrugged. "Alright. Well, at least do me the honor of sharing a drink, to forgive my rude behavior on the ship."

There was something about the man's demeanor that precluded any notion of his offer being inappropriate to someone he considered a commanding officer. And Flynn wasn't _actually_ Commandant at the moment, after all. He reached forward to take the proffered cup, its surface rough like clay.

After removing the plug that sealed the bottle, Tor tipped it gently into the cup that Flynn held out before attending to his own. The liquid was a pale yellow, sand dunes and dead grass. After flashing a quick grin, Tor tossed his back. With an inward grimace, Flynn steeled himself and followed not long after.

It had them both coughing, burned down the throat, peppery and acidic. When it finally settled in Flynn's stomach, he looked up with watery eyes to find Tor laughing, head tilted back and limbs loose. It made Flynn want to laugh, too, even with the alarmingly raw sensation in his throat.

"I'm sorry," Tor finally said, gasping. "That was…terrible. I do feel warmer, though."

Well, there was that. If nothing else, Flynn had momentarily forgotten the deep chill; he hoped that was the drink's purpose, and not that the Tecarri were simply masochistic. In fact, he wondered why he had even agreed to try to mystery beverage; Tor had seemed so trustworthy, radiating goodwill and innocent camaraderie.

Flynn pondered this, his mind an odd mixture of hyper-alertness and a fuzzy lethargy. In the morning—or was it morning already?—they would begin the search for the extremist base, but then would come the harder task of what to do when they found it. A direct attack could make them go to ground, destroying evidence of their activities, possibly even the death of prisoners, if they had already succeeded in raiding the armory. It would be at least a week until reports came in of suspicious silence from that Imperial base, too long to hesitate. They needed subtlety, a way to thwart them without…

The idea hit hard and fast, was quite possibly the most ridiculous thing he had ever come up with, yet brilliant, flawless if it worked. Flynn stared down into the empty cup, looked at Tor, still smiling, the kind of person one could trust with any secret, the kind of person that no one would suspect had any of his own.

Though Flynn would look on the idea with fresh eyes in the morning, away from any influence from the fiendish liquor of Tecarr, in truth his decision had already been made.

* * *

A/N: Look, some happy moments for Flynn! The guy needed some, that's for sure.


	25. Nightfall

**25. Nightfall**

Tucked in the shadow of a dry, winding canyon, the ruins did seem a perfect place to hide. As far as Flynn knew, there was no record of such a place existing in Desier—there had really been no reason for the knights to scout so deeply into an otherwise barren land. Another lost relic of the past. Flynn turned away from the cliff's edge, careful not to stir any pebbles loose to bounce down to the canyon floor. It was still early, but sweat gathered under his collar, threatened to trickle down his back. He squinted into the sun and took a drink from a flask of water, allowing himself only a mouthful before returning it to his belt.

They stood in a semi-circle directly above the crumbling stone structures: Flynn, Tor, Kyan, Rita and Estellise, their Tecarri guide and two other knights. Unsure of what they would find at their destination, it was thought best that the expedition be kept small enough to remain inconspicuous, yet large enough to defend themselves if taken by surprise. Predictably, the girls had traveled beside the Tecarri woman who led them, one of them relaying messages back to the others whenever necessary. Mostly, though, they had walked in silence, passing only scrub and gnarled, leafless trees. In the daylight, many of the monsters slept in the shade of rocks or burrows; once, the group startled a lizard about the size of Repede. It hissed at them, scaly neck ruff flaring, before slipping down into a stony crevice. It was the most excitement of their trip before they reached the canyon.

Across from Flynn, Kyan dragged his sleeve across his forehead.

"Man, it's hot. I think I'm almost out of water; guess I should've taken it easier." He glanced over to pout at Tor, who automatically clamped his hand over his own water flask and shook his head, grinning.

A few steps away, the Tecarri woman—Flynn guessed if he wanted to know her name, he would have to ask Estellise—watched the exchange with wry amusement.

"It is only spring," she said. "Barely that. You would not do well here."

Kyan shrugged, holding up his canteen and shaking it beside his ear. "Then it's a good thing I'm not planning to stay any longer than I have to."

The woman snorted, the light fabric of her skirts swishing as she stepped back over to speak with Rita and Estellise. Flynn could only imagine what thoughts must be going through her mind, likely about the foolishness of men. Perhaps she would share those thoughts—he was pretty sure that was what women talked about when they were among themselves, anyway. The pointed glances that were sent back in the knights' direction only strengthened that assumption. Flynn shook his head before turning his attention back to the matter at hand.

"So," said Kyan, "we're here. What now?"

Tor scratched his head. "Don't we have to make sure the extremists are actually here first?"

"Well, _yeah_. How are we going to do that?"

A smirk tugged at Flynn's lips. Technically, Tor outranked Kyan after his promotion, but the other knight had difficulties remembering to call his best friend _sir_. While protocol was important, Flynn imagined that had Yuri remained in the knights, they would have had a similar issue. Of course, it was a moot point. Yuri didn't like to _sir_ anyone. That was part of the problem.

"—alright?"

He snapped his eyes up to find himself under Tor's gaze and cleared his throat—he really couldn't afford to drift like that. Wasn't putting distance between them supposed to prevent this type of distraction? Flynn didn't want to think about the fact that maybe nothing could, now. But no. He was here for a reason; to move forward, to do things the right way.

"They're here." Flynn spoke firmly, meeting the eyes of each of the knights around him in turn.

"How—" Kyan swallowed. "I mean, with all due respect, sir…" So he did know how to be subordinate, after a fashion. Flynn allowed a small, tight smile.

"I know it doesn't seem like it, but I'm certain. The dirt around the central tower is too smooth, like they were hiding footprints. I also found a bolt from a crossbow—if it were old, it would be buried in the sand. And Estellise says the Tecarri don't come here."

Kyan sighed, looking down at his boots. "Let me guess. They think it's haunted…sir?" He grimaced when Flynn nodded once. The other knights muttered to themselves, before Tor broke in cheerfully.

"None of that, now. This culture lets women make all the decisions—are we really going to get shaken up over some local superstition?"

"Uh, Tor…" Kyan frowned, gaze settling on a point behind him. Tor turned and nearly jumped when he found the Tecarri guide at his shoulder.

Her arms were crossed, but she seemed otherwise unruffled. She spoke softly, in an even tone with little emotion.

"There was a battle, long ago. No time to bury the fallen. Now they refuse to leave this place. We should not linger."

She turned away without waiting for any of the men to respond—they looked at each other with varying degrees of bafflement and concern. Before anyone could be the first to speak, Estellise bounded into view, squeezing herself between Tor and Kyan in the middle of their circle.

"It's amazing," she said, a bit breathlessly. "Do you _know_ where we are?"

More shuffling. Someone coughed, short and dry.

"If you've learned something, please tell us," said Flynn. Estellise turned toward him, eyes bright. When she spoke, it was in the measured, lilting tone of recitation.

"Many centuries ago, the emperor Orlen, known for his wisdom and strength in battle, had two sons. Both were brave and handsome, but opposite in every way: Brinn had hair as fiery as his temper, while his younger brother, Estel, was kind and fair of feature. When the brothers reached adulthood, each was given rule over a portion of their father's empire."

Flynn blinked, interrupting as she paused for breath. "Estel. Does that mean that you…?"

Estellise's cheeks flushed, darkening spots of pink left there by the relentless sun. She nodded. "I was named after the prince. Many nobles have former royals as their namesakes."

Well, Flynn could see why the story might be close to her heart, then. "I'm sorry. Please continue."

She nodded, took another breath. "The lands under the princes' control were meant to be equal in size and importance, but Brinn was jealous of his brother's territories: Hypionia, a land of fertile soil, temples and sun-drenched forests. It suited Estel, just as the Coliseum battles and bustling trade of Nordopolica was a better fit for Brinn's nature.

"But his veins ran hot with envy, believing that his father had favored Estel and given him a land of dust. Even controlling the second largest city of the Empire was not enough for him. So Brinn provoked his brother, drew Estel away from the people that loved him and into a feud he never wanted. During this time, their father died—not wishing his eldest son to become Emperor after him, the matter of succession was left unresolved. This only fueled Brinn's hatred.

"Eventually, it came down to a confrontation between their armies, deep in Brinn's land. The Commandant at that time, a man named Delarist, was loyal to Estel and had a tower constructed to hold against his brother's men. There was a long, fierce battle in the desert heat; they ran out of water in Delarist's tower long before they were in danger of running out of food, and Estel was forced to surrender. He met his brother alone, to negotiate a truce and some type of compromise regarding his lands. To end the fighting, it was said, he was even willing to give up his claim to the throne, though few thought Brinn to be the better choice.

"They met as the sun was rising, and Brinn was consumed by rage and jealousy. He murdered his brother, who had come to meet him bearing no weapons, as they had agreed. With that action, the battle was finished. Brinn became Emperor, though he was never loved, and many thought him mad: he destroyed the beautiful cities of Hypionia that he had so envied and let the temple fall into disrepair. This is why only the smallest settlements exist there…at least, until Aurnion was built."

Estellise tilted her head, frowning, the last words spoken like an afterthought and not part of the narrative. She blinked in the sun, coming back out of the past and to herself.

"This is Delarist's Tower," she said in a hushed tone. Her gaze drifted over to the stone structure, just visible from where they stood. "The canyon below us is where Prince Estel made his last stand. It's been lost for ages."

No one spoke for a moment; Kyan studied his boots again, mouthed _wow_ and darted a glance over at Tor, who wore an expression of contemplation.

Flynn had never been a dedicated student of history; he was taught the basics in his early days as a knight, heard some stories through the years, but this was not one with which he was familiar. Even as Commandant, there were simply too many rulers to keep track of them all, certainly not tales of princes who died before they could ever sit the throne. It was intriguing, though—when he had thought of the tower as a lost relic, he had not imagined it could be an important one.

"Thank you, Estellise. As always, you are a master storyteller." Flynn smiled, while Estellise dipped her head in slightly embarrassed acknowledgement.

"You guys?" Rita, who had apparently walked over at some point during Estellise's narration, spoke up from beside her. "Do you hear that? Maybe we should move away from the cliff…"

Flynn stopped to listen; faintly, a grinding noise, stone on stone. In wordless agreement, everyone backed away several paces as the noise grew louder until it abruptly stopped with a metallic clang. It had come from below, reverberating on the canyon walls for several seconds after.

"That sounded like old gears grinding together," said Rita, who would know. "We're _definitely_ not alone."

Despite his near-certainty of the extremists' presence there, ice settled in Flynn's stomach. Had they opened a gate of some kind? There was no way for anyone to immediately reach the visitors at the top of the canyon, at least—to get between the two points, one would have to walk a narrow trail that switched back and forth along the cliff face. Flynn hoped that they had managed to conceal themselves quickly enough and wondered how long they could safely remain there. Whether the echo of sound and voices worked both ways.

"As I suspected. Now that it's confirmed, may I suggest a plan of action…"

He had everyone's attention, eight pairs of eyes on him, blue and green and brown. The Tecarri woman, for whom the matter was of little concern, seemed to be listening out of curiosity. Flynn stood firm, let the words fall sharp in the desert air.

"We attack. Immediately."

Kyan's mouth opened and closed. "What, like…now? Sir?"

Beside him, Tor rolled his eyes emphatically.

"Of course not _now_. We'd have to get the rest of the knights. If this is even a good idea." He darted a nervous glance over at Flynn, who frowned.

"We discussed this, Altiren. The element of surprise will not last long. They may even know we're here already."

He ran a hand over sweat-dark red curls, expelled a breath that sounded thick with frustration. "And if they have prisoners? We'd be risking their lives, sir."

"You know your part in this," said Flynn, letting the statement speak for itself. Tor understood the plan; they had discussed every contingency at length in the morning's early hours.

Tor laughed with a touch of bitterness, and even Kyan looked startled. "With all due respect, sir," he said, sounding anything but, "the honor of scouting ahead and rescuing prisoners is dubious at best, considering the blind risk involved. What happened to watch and wait?"

"Tor…" Estellise frowned, laying a hand along his arm. "I trust Flynn. Are you feeling alright?"

He smiled down at her, tight and brief, melting a little back into himself. "I'm…a little overheated. It just seems like we don't know enough yet. About numbers, about the tower itself. Sir…it could be a bloodbath. I don't like those kind of odds."

Flynn tilted his head, acknowledging these concerns. Still, he refused to repeat Dahngrest, a month of observation and information gathering that had resulted in the tragic death of a friend, his murderer killed out of anger and a desire for revenge. Considering everything, their plan was the best option that Flynn could determine—active, rather than passive. He made sure that everyone could hear him clearly.

"We will return here tonight, before the moon rises. For now, we should go back and make our preparations."

As they marched back along a trail of stone and sand, Flynn thought about trust: who to place it in, how far someone could go before it breaks. There was still ice in his stomach, heavy and bitter cold.

* * *

Out of sheer force of habit, Yuri entered the capital city through the Lower Quarter's gate. It was the more indirect route, especially with the castle as his ultimate destination, but it didn't quite feel right coming in any other way. He and Judy left Ba'ul to do whatever it was that the Entelexeia did whenever he wasn't ferrying them around. When Yuri had asked Judy about it once, she had claimed breezily that Ba'ul was very private about such things. But her eyes shone like it was a private joke, and he wondered not for the first time what exactly transferred through those antennae of hers when they communicated.

As they strode up the ramp that ran along the quarter's canal, Yuri was doing a mental countdown. Four. Three. Two.

"Yuri!"

His arm was clasped heartily as Hanks approached. The older man liked to pretend that Yuri was a troublemaking nuisance that the Lower Quarter was better off rid of—and Yuri himself wasn't all that inclined to disagree—but it was belied by the gruff affection reflected in his eyes, the way they crinkled a little at the corners. He exchanged nods with Judy, reached out to Repede, who deigned to let him briefly scratch behind his ear.

"So," he said, arms crossed. "What brings you back to our corner of the world? More trouble, I'd wager. Doubt you've come all this way for a hot meal at the Comet, though they'd whip one up for you if ya poked your head in."

There was something about the light in this square, how the setting sun crept over the rooftops, through alleyways and cracked mortar, streaks and pools of golden warmth that lingered like the last days of summer. Yuri knew that if he touched the paving stones, the fountain's rim, they'd radiate that heat, would be dry and rough beneath his fingers. This was what it meant when they said 'home.'

"Yeah," said Yuri. "I know."

Some part of him wanted to watch the blue-gray shadows seep into familiar corners, slowly edging out the sun; he gazed up at the deepening blue of that patch of sky between the buildings, where as a kid he had often watched the clouds chase each other and dissolve. He smiled, tilted his head, and kept walking.

Yuri wanted to reach the castle before dusk. It wasn't, he told himself, that he couldn't afford to spend much time in the Lower Quarter at that moment. Wasn't the fact that every face he met would ask how Flynn was doing, would tell stories from their childhood with a nudge and a smile. Even if news had spread, as it surely would have by now, of what had happened up at the castle—he was their golden boy, their local hero, always.

Flynn often told Yuri how they asked after him and sang his praises whenever he wasn't around. Yuri still wasn't sure if he believed him, whether he wanted to. The idea always put an itch between his shoulder blades that he wasn't sure what to do with.

The castle gates loomed before him, iron bars rising into points, flanked by guards, stiff and anonymous both. But that wasn't the way he was going. Like his entrance through the Lower Quarter, some habits just weren't meant to be broken. The guards stood aside to let Judy and Repede through; all of Brave Vesperia were friends of the castle, free to come and go by order of Ioder and the Council. She would bring a message to the fair-haired Imperial candidate, inform him of everything that happened as one of the only people that they knew they could trust.

The guards watched the Krityan, all long legs and swaying hips; Yuri scaled the walls.

This was another sensation he had memorized: his fingernails digging in between bricks and stone, pushing off with his feet, nothing beneath them but air and a nasty fall. Exhilaration, but no fear. But this time, when he reached up and felt the windowsill jutting out above him, it wasn't to rap on the glass until a pair of hunched shoulders turned from the desk to greet him with a weary smile.

The window was open; small miracles. Yuri swung his legs over and stood inside, dusting off his hands. Not much had changed, which was almost more disconcerting than if it had. On the bed, the sheets and covers were peeled back, slightly rumpled—that was new. But other than a few scattered personal items…

"Yuri Lowell."

Yeah, his name was going to get worn out one of these days, with as much as people seemed to like to say it. Yuri turned, smirk at the ready. Eyes bore into his—almond-shaped, vividly colored. It made him think of blood and sea-salt, when Sodia looked startled like that. He rested his palms on his hips and tried not to.

"Sodia. Or am I supposed to call you Commandant? I think I'll pass."

Her face settled into something closer to normal when it came to him—frustration, tinged with guilt. "Why are you here? Aren't you supposed to be with Flynn?"

Once, that would have held a lot more bitterness. Sodia sounded tired instead, looked it when Yuri examined her more carefully. It must have come with the territory. He shrugged.

"Flynn's off being Flynn. I have my own business to deal with. Came to check on Captain Leblanc."

Since he and Flynn had left the city, no news had reached them on Leblanc's status; he'd been unconscious when they walked out through the castle gates. He hoped the man had recovered; he'd been given a captainship after the official resignation of the elusive Captain Schwann, and for as much grief as Yuri had caused him over the years, they had a grudging, unspoken respect for each other.

Sodia was wavering a little on her feet. She brought a hand up, fingers pressed against her temple. "He should be in his quarters. Do you need…"

"I can find it, thanks." Yuri waved his hand through the air as he walked across the room. Paused in the doorway, his head half-turned. "I know it's hard to believe, but even Flynn sleeps sometimes."

He didn't wait for a response.

At night, the halls seemed even longer than usual, echoing footsteps and candlelight reflected within their glossy floors. If the guards were surprised to see him, Yuri would never be able to tell. They stood at attention as always, faces shielded by helmet visors, posted at doors or patrolling. He asked one—briefly, monosyllabic—where he could find Leblanc, followed a maze of stairs and twisting corridors before he reached the captain's quarters. For once, he knocked.

On the other side, there was rustling and heavy movement, until the door finally swung open—nudged open by Leblanc's shoulder, propped on crutches. He had a bandage wrapped around his head and taped along his cheek, where shiny pink scar tissue was just visible along the edges. After staring for a moment at his unexpected visitor, he grunted and waved him in.

"Yuri Lowell," he said. "If only you had simply knocked on my door when I was trying to put you in jail all those times."

This coaxed a smirk out of Yuri. "You know I can't make it that easy."

Leblanc hissed, almost indiscernibly, as he set his crutches against an armchair and sunk down into it. "Of course not. If I'm not mistaken, I'd almost say you enjoyed stirring up the brigade and sending us all on a merry chase, Lowell."

"And I'd almost say you enjoyed the chasing." Yuri leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed. "Good to see you up and kicking."

A snort, one brow raised as he regarded Yuri in the dim light. "Up and shuffling, more like. But not down for the count yet."

"Nah. I'm sure you'll be bellowing at me in no time."

Yuri's lips quirked; through the window, the moon was a bright crescent of white, creeping slowly above the rooftops.

Leblanc shifted in his chair with a fleeting grimace. "Well. As much as I make a habit of shooting the breeze with Zaphias' most wanted, I suspect this isn't a social visit."

"Hey, I got pardoned, remember?"

"Hmph."

"Anyway, you've heard about the extremists."

It wasn't a question. Leblanc nodded, stiffly. In his long years of service, the man had dealt with extremist plots more often than any other knight that Yuri knew of. It had to be killing him to be aware of their recent actions, to know they were planning something, and not be involved directly. Yuri wondered if anyone else had even thought to come to him like this. Considering Noran's apathy, he doubted it.

"So, I'm here to ask you for advice. Try not to keel over from shock."

Leblanc did look more than a little taken aback; after a moment, his mouth twitched.

"Is that right, Lowell. Didn't think I'd see the day." He laughed a little, low and under his breath. "I'm not going anywhere for a while, it seems, so I'll do what I can. What d'you need?"

"Names," said Yuri. "Locations, if you've got them. I need a place to start. Something big is about to go down here, and I don't want to be left holding the bag."

Leblanc's eyes flashed toward his, more alive and determined than the man that had hobbled to the door. "Hm. You and me both," he muttered, rummaging around on a side table for a sheet of paper and something to write with.

"Here's what I know for sure," he said, scrawling rapidly across the page. "Come back if it isn't enough; I'll see what I can do."

Yuri stepped away from the wall to take the list from Leblanc's outstretched hand.

"Thanks," he said. "I'll put this to good use."

They nodded to each other, and Yuri headed for the door. He paused just after passing the armchair when Leblanc began to speak once more.

"…Give Sir Schwann my regards. If you see him."

Yuri smiled, but didn't turn around.

"Got it. Will do."

* * *

Twilight swathed the desert in swiftly-cooling shadow. It was darkest here, where the canyon walls rose high and were untouched by the final gasps of daylight. As night fell, the tower's gates and parapets were lined with torches—most of the region's nocturnal monsters feared fire and hesitated to approach. Guards were posted in shifts of four hours, little to see but a strip of dark sand and stone in both directions, the occasional sharp-clawed bird swooping down for a meal.

The shape lumbering toward the current pair of guards in the distance was like a mirage at first, registered trance-like but unreal this late in their shift. They jostled to attention when it resolved into a cloaked rider, astride one of the shaggy beasts used for mounts and milk in the nearby village. It slowed to a trot at the far edge of the torchlight.

One of the guards cleared his throat before barking down from his post.

"There are arrows notched at every gap in these tower's walls, stranger." He wasn't sure if this was true, but it was close enough to remain a serious threat. "You'd best have good reason to be here."

The man—for man it had to be, tall with broad shoulders, no curve in the chest—let the beast's reins fall, lifted his hands slowly until they rested open and empty on either side of his head.

"I've come to warn you," he said. The hooded face briefly lifted to scan the sky. "I don't have much time, but…"

The second guard grunted. "Save your breath. We already know about the pitiful excuse for an attack that those Imperial dogs have planned."

The man tilted his head. "Do you? I see. Well, that makes things easier."

"I don't like men who are too cowardly to show their face," said the guard. His companion wondered wryly if he would be so bold if it were a Nameless One standing before him, rather than a defenseless stranger. "Show yourself, then, and state your business."

The rider slid back his hood with two hands, and his hair glinted like copper in the light of the torches.

"My name," he said, grim but confident, "is Tor. What would you say if I told you that I could get you Flynn Scifo?"

* * *

A/N: Ha, chapter is slightly earlier and longer than usual. But in a good way, I think. Hmm. I'm _very_ curious to see what everyone makes of it all. (As a side note, I hope the whole "Estellise named after the prince" thing doesn't seem too contrived; when I was naming the brothers, it just felt right. Estel is pronounced like "est-uhl" rather than "est-ehl.")


	26. Lure

**26. Lure**

A howl in the distance made Flynn shiver involuntarily. He didn't notice the cold, this night—the cool wind ruffled his shirt, snaked beneath it to raise the hairs on his skin, but this was registered distantly, not as important as sight and sound. Flynn's focus was on the group of knights marching around him, on the stone tower that loomed dark and ancient at the bottom of the canyon. A few torches illuminated the still-open gate, wide enough for five men to walk through without brushing shoulders. There were no guards.

Kyan stepped through first, leading in Tor's absence. He glanced up briefly at the jagged underside of the gate, raised up by a thick, rusted chain attached to a system of gears and levers just inside the tower. In pairs, Flynn and the other knights followed close behind. Their steps rang out sharply on the dusty stone floor, echoing in the large entrance chamber. But for their presence, it was empty. Silent.

The tower was surprisingly well-constructed for what Estellise had told them had been its purpose. Commandant Delarist must have had an abundance of time to design and build it—the structure was not a hastily thrown together stronghold, meant only to hold back enemy forces. From the entrance alone, a hall lined by columns and arched doorways, Flynn would wager that this had been the fortress of a prince who was inspired by the aesthetic, intended as a wartime base but also a place of morale-boosting elegance far from the comforts of home. It was no palace, but possessed a rugged beauty reflected in the dry land where it had been constructed.

When the last pair had stepped beneath the gate and into the hall—they numbered fifteen all together, not including Tor who had gone ahead of them as planned—Kyan raised his hand to signal a halt. For a moment, there was only the sound of boots shuffling, no other movement except heads turning to peer into the archways, out into the dusty gloom beyond for any sign of their enemies. At another hand signal, they moved forward, slow and cautious, hands gripping the hilts of their swords.

There was something eerie about the place, more than just the torches sputtering as drafts of dry desert wind slipped through cracks in the walls. The atmosphere felt…heavy, somehow. A feeling like sorrow or despair, making it slightly harder to breathe. Perhaps it was only the Tecarri woman's story working on his mind, but Flynn wondered if there was something to the fact that the tower was avoided by the villagers. He'd witnessed enough strange things in the past year or so, as had his friends—Yormgen and the ghost ship came to mind—not to discount it out of hand.

About halfway through the hall, the feeling abruptly escalated. Flynn raised a hand to his temple, shut his eyes for only a moment as he tried to sort through the onslaught of emotions that were not his own. Panic. Fear and anxiety. An impulse to flee immediately. Flynn's eyes flew open; he snapped off orders that overlapped Kyan's.

"Everyone, weapons at the ready!"

"Watch your backs, men. We've got company."

It was moments later that the extremists appeared; there was no other warning. Whatever the feeling had been, it was reliable enough to anticipate the men and women streaming out from the archways behind them with shouts and brandished weapons. They might have surrounded the knights, attacked before the ones on the outside could defend themselves. Instead, unsheathed swords swung up to meet their blades, rang out as they connected, pushed away to strike again.

The extremists had gotten wind of their attack, then. Flynn had suspected as much when the tower had appeared empty and unguarded, though when and where they would meet in battle remained uncertain. To surround them so close to the entrance was somewhat predictable, and possibly to the knights' advantage rather than theirs. Fighting further inside would provide a better opportunity to overwhelm them, cut off routes of escape. Flynn allowed himself a moment to be grateful that someone like Mira was not in command here.

The knights were outnumbered, but highly trained and in top form compared to their enemies. They were accustomed to long, strenuous battles, and their discipline under orders lent a methodical yet graceful unity to their attacks. The numbers began to even out, with no losses on the knights' side—Flynn knew that they could hold them here. The tower, according to the paper that Yuri had retrieved, was not meant to accommodate as many extremists as had been at the estate, only enough to raid the armory and guard the acquired weapons and prisoners. This would not be all of them. Flynn was confident, though, that they would not be overwhelmed anytime soon.

The battle was controlled chaos, nonetheless. Grunts of exertion and pain, some fighting in pairs, others holding off two or three, the mingling scent of sweat and leather. And blood, sharp and bitter underneath, running into Flynn's eyes, maybe his own but probably not. The fact that he didn't feel pain didn't mean anything either way; shock and adrenaline would keep it away until after, when one could look down and note with detached fascination the deep gash across an arm or leg, an arrow shaft's bright feathers.

At the end of the hall, double doors would lead further into the tower. Up, probably; Flynn needed down. There hadn't been a floor plan on the paper—still, it was the best option he could determine. He glanced about the hall, settled finally on a pair of men panting over the recently fallen body of a man wielding an axe, crimson splashed across the blade and pooling beside it on the floor. Flynn wove through the battle until he stood before them; they looked at him wearily, yet there was strength and determination in their eyes.

"You two, with me."

He didn't wait for their automatic responses of 'yes, sir,' or look to see if they were following, but sprinted down to the end of the hall and pushed one of the doors open with his shoulder. It was painted with simple designs of red and gold, faded and chipping in places. In the center, someone had scrawled the Liberty's Fist emblem that had been on the seal in their Dahngrest estate's records room—this made Flynn irrationally angry, as if something personal had been defiled rather than a long-forgotten relic of moderate historical importance. But was it even _his_ anger? The thought gave him pause, even as he stepped through into the darkness of the next room.

Estellise, he mused, would be useful here. But as with Mira's gala, no one was willing to risk her being harmed or captured when the extremists had already demonstrated how far they would go to accomplish these things. Rita, unsurprisingly, also elected to stay behind. Either of the girls would have been welcome: Estellise could light the way, and Flynn would almost even be willing to risk Rita's experimental mana spells if it meant being able to find his staircase. Almost. He had heard stories of how she had nearly destroyed their home in Halure by flooding it while trying to fill a washtub with water. Estellise had been beside herself, picking sodden papers off the floor for weeks. After that Rita's work indoors become purely theoretical, with all experiments taking place in empty fields and hilltops.

The knights had fallen into place silently behind Flynn as he groped through the dark. He nearly toppled forward when his foot stepped out into air, steadied himself as it brushed a wide stone step below. Calling the knights over, Flynn listened to the distant shouts and clang of steel as he made his way down the spiraling staircase one heavy footstep at a time. His hand was stretched out to feel the rough stone of the wall as they descended, until they reached the bottom, which opened onto a passageway of hazy torchlight.

Flynn could only hope that Tor had been keeping up his end of their plan.

* * *

Golden-brown liquid sloshed onto the bar, narrowly avoiding Yuri's hand as he dropped it to his side just in time. His companion was talking with his hands again, one of which happened to be holding a glass mug that had, at one time, been filled to the brim with the tavern's finest brew. Which wasn't saying much, really. Yuri's own mostly untouched mug was evidence of that—though he couldn't deny a subconscious desire to avoid a repeat of his last tavern visit. He needed to be sober for this.

"It's like I was saying," said the young man, whose name was Reuben, "we come and go as we please, long as we get the job done. Don't pay much, but you sure as hell could do worse."

He leaned over with a friendly, sloppy grin. Somehow, even with all the gesturing and splashing, he'd managed to get enough drink past his lips to reach that stage where he seemed happy, pliant. Yuri half-expected him to buy drinks for the whole place at any moment. Instead, he clapped Yuri's shoulder firmly.

"You're alright," he said, with feeling. "Fit right in with that sword of yours, probably pass up an errand boy like me in no time. Huh."

Reuben returned his attention to his near-empty drink, took a long swallow as he held the mug with both hands. Yuri watched him, trying to assess the situation. This had been the first mention of anything related to Reuben's job that would require the use of swords—not news to Yuri, of course, but it meant that his inhibitions were dropping. The name had been selected from Leblanc's list because the man was at this tavern nearly every night and thus one of the easiest to find, but with any luck he'd prove useful. Yuri preferred to get things right the first time, anyway.

"So tell me, Rube," Yuri began. Reuben beamed at him hazily. "If I wanted to contact your employers, see if they could use my skills…"

"Hmmm." The man seemed suddenly enthralled with the rim of his mug, and ran his finger along it in a circle. "They're….hm…I don't think they're hiring anyone right now, you know?"

Damn. Yuri had miscalculated how drunk this guy was. Namely, not enough. Reuben had thrown up an automatic wall to that line of questioning, even though _he_ had been the one that had suggested Yuri join up in the first place. Trying not to grit his teeth, Yuri signaled the bartender to fill his companion's glass. Reuben blinked, raised the mug toward Yuri in thanks and sent a splash of golden liquor into his own lap in the process. He didn't seem to notice.

Yuri would just have to approach from a different direction, then. Back off a little; bide his time.

"That's too bad. Maybe some other time."

Reuben nodded, vaguely. His gaze seemed unfocused, directed toward the wall of bottle-laden shelves across from them but looking at nothing in particular. Yuri needed to get the conversation going again, before he fell into a stupor…

Brown eyes flicked over to meet his. There was a small, sad smile curling on Reuben's lips when he spoke.

"Have you ever been in love, my friend?"

…Huh? Yuri opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. Even though part of his mind was shouting 'just say _no_, idiot,' his tongue for some reason didn't want to cooperate.

"I…uh, I don't know." Eyes narrowed, he reached for his mug and gulped down some of the offensive substance like it was punishment. Reuben still had a dreamy look on his face.

"I'd wager not, then. If it's love, then you know it…least, that's what I think. When you've got someone that you'd do anything for. That'd you'd die for, maybe. An' they're all you can think about most times…"

This stuff really was vile. Yuri pushed the mug away with two fingers, slumped a little on the bar.

"So you've got someone you feel that way about, huh?" Yuri muttered. How did they even get _on_ this subject?

Reuben tilted his head, nodding with that same smile.

"Sure do. Ah, but I don't stand a chance." He looked over at Yuri, but if he thought that he was going to get some kind of halfhearted objection, he was out of luck. Reuben cleared his throat. "She's beautiful. Small and delicate, with dark hair…a bit like yours, actually, 'cept that you do kind of look like a man, and she don't."

Yeah, thanks. _Kind of_ like a man, huh? Yuri barely resisted rolling his eyes. The guy was clearly infatuated, though; he could use that.

"So, this beauty have a name?"

"Course she does," said Reuben. "Elaina, she's called. If there's a lovelier name, I don't know it. If she…if she just knew how much I care for her…"

He hiccuped and took another drink. Yuri fervently hoped that he wasn't about to start crying. Last thing he needed was a drunk extremist-lackey drooling on his shoulder.

"Hey, uh, you should tell her, then." _Hypocrite_, his mind accused. He told it very firmly to shut up. "When you're sober, I mean. Does she work with you?"

If she didn't, then this had been a pointless digression. But Reuben started to nod, then frowned suddenly before shaking his head as if to clear it. When he turned back to Yuri, the man looked almost hopeful. Drunk, but hopeful.

"Y'really think I should?"

"Sure," said Yuri, shrugging. Privately, he filed the name away in his mind along with the others. With any luck, 'Elaina' had more pull in the organization than this guy. "I could even come with you. For moral support, you know."

Reuben scratched his jaw. "I don't know…you seem like decent enough of a guy, but…ah, I guess it can't hurt. I'd lose my nerve, I just know it."

"Excellent," said Yuri, mildly aware that was the kind of thing Flynn would say. Whatever. "Just tell me when and where, and I'll be there."

It took considerable effort for Reuben to focus enough to remember where he could meet privately with the object of his affection. His gaze went in and out of focus while Yuri waited.

"Err…tomorrow. I'm going to see her tomorrow, so you could meet me, ah, at the square where Market Street and Palace Avenue intersect. Yeah. I'll be on a bench. Oh, but you'll need a time. About half an hour past noon? That should be right."

Yuri hoped so. He also hoped that Reuben wouldn't rethink the whole idea once the alcohol was out of his system, or worse, become suspicious. But Yuri thought he'd played the whole thing pretty safe—nothing to suspect when he was so willing to help with something Reuben desperately wanted. He hadn't asked for Liberty's Fists secrets, or what they had planned in Zaphias. He had no illusions that that kind of information would come easily.

The glass mug was empty again, but Yuri didn't buy another round this time. He stood from his seat, shook hands with Reuben while making further assurances that he would be there as planned. The man was whistling and smiling as he exited the tavern, blinded by love.

* * *

Beneath the tower, the air was stale and smelled of moldy straw and unwashed bodies. Flynn and the knights kept their footfalls as light as possible until they nearly collided with a pair of guards after turning a corner—they seemed to be expecting them, but this didn't give them much advantage. The knights were always ready to fight when confronted with an enemy, and their skill brought the less disciplined extremists down quickly.

Flynn crouched to unfasten the dungeon key-ring from one of the guards' belt. They were heavy and corroded, the dark metal's surface marred with tiny pits. He gripped it with the hand not holding his sword, and the long keys clattered together as he walked.

The dimly-lit hall ended at a smooth metal door, only broken by a keyhole which Flynn could only guess belonged to the largest and most official-looking key. Despite the age of both, the door opened with little noise or difficulty. It opened onto a hall much like the one they had just left, except with fewer torches. Two blazed at the far end, flanking another door; Flynn could not see any others.

There were ten cells all together, five doors on each side. Wooden, with small square windows near the top, set with bars spaced close together. Flynn stepped up to the closest one on his left, stomach sinking even as he knew what he would find. The guards would have had to be there for a reason, after all. He had hoped, however, that somehow he could be wrong.

A man lay curled up on the floor, his back facing Flynn. The tunic he wore was barely recognizable as one of the knights', torn in places and soiled, dusted liberally with bits of damp straw. It was impossible to tell if he was breathing, between his position and the darkness. Glancing into the other cells revealed that four of them were occupied. One of the men had a very alarming dark stain on the side of his tunic, and on the straw directly underneath.

"See to them," Flynn directed. He passed the cell keys to the more senior of the two knights, who nodded wordlessly. The other knight, however, wore a troubled expression. He glanced back at one of the cells and his brow furrowed.

"Sir. Hadn't Sir Tor gone ahead of us to help the prisoners escape?"

"Yes," said Flynn. He frowned. "It does not seem a good sign that he isn't here."

"Then we should be on our guard, sir?"

Flynn nodded. "Of course. I suspect they may have the stolen weapons beyond that door. The two of you should be able to handle any trouble, should you encounter it."

"Yes, sir." The man turned away without further argument, and Flynn continued down the hall. He had just found the right key and inserted it into the lock when a sound made his head lift and eyes gaze up at the ceiling.

A low blast, reverberating throughout the stone structure. A horn, not so much musical as _loud_. Flynn's breath caught; reinforcements must have arrived. He spun around to face the knights, who were in the process of slinging the prisoners' arms around their shoulders to support them if they couldn't walk. One waved them off, clutching his stomach but able to limp along at an adequate speed on his own. The knights looked to Flynn, eyes wide.

"They're sounding the retreat," he said—to spur them into action, as they would know what the horn meant. "You must go, now."

"Sir, what about—"

"_Go._"

They followed Flynn's orders without looking back; he did not envy them the long trip back up the dark staircase, hobbled as they were by the dazed and injured men. Flynn returned his attention to the lock. He turned the key, and the door swung open.

The next room, however, was not where they had stored whatever had been stolen in the raid on the armory. It was empty, thick with dust—Flynn squinted as his eyes adjusted, trying to find any other doors or corridors branching off from this room. There were columns lining the walls, much like the entrance chamber, though less ornate. He walked between them, each step kicking up dust that may not have been disturbed for centuries.

Flynn's gaze was fixed on what he realized was a door, hidden between columns. As he approached it, movement flickered at the corner of his eye. A sudden chill settled in his stomach. Everything happened quickly after that, and it was almost like he was watching it happen to someone else. Except for the pain, of course, which was sharp and immediate, spreading like fire on the back of his skull. And then he was crumpling, falling, plunged into utter darkness.

* * *

A/N: …Flynn kind of deals with a lot of crap in this story. I'm sorry, Flynn! Anyway, despite that, I promise that things are headed to good places. Namely, Flynn and Yuri interaction places. Maybe not next chapter, but soon. (And I know many of you are wondering what the deal is with Tor. Speculation is fun! Ha.)


	27. Confidence

**27. Confidence**

The choppy seas made travel in what once was a fishing vessel from Nor Harbor even more unbearable than usual. It tossed and creaked in the most unnerving of ways as the guards marched down the narrow corridor below decks, two behind and one leading the man called Tor Altiren. On particularly strong swells, they were forced to stop and brace themselves—this made the trip down into the hold much longer than it should have been.

After several minutes of this shuffling, the lead guard stopped in front of a door and fumbled into his belt pouch for the key. He glanced back at Tor, nodded, and ushered him inside ahead of himself and the others. The door was shut behind them, and locked again. A standard precaution, but an unnecessary one.

Slumped against the splintering boards of the far wall, Flynn Scifo wasn't going anywhere soon. His hands were securely tied with rope behind his back, and his ankles had received a similar treatment. Facing the door, he was lying on his side, unconscious but breathing. An overzealous guard had cuffed him across the face back at the tower, and a purpling bruise spread there on his cheekbone. Other than that, he was unharmed, if dazed by his initial blow to the head and rumpled from being transferred into the makeshift holding cell. They had been traveling for several hours now.

A soft moan snapped everyone out of their scrutiny of the man's condition, and Tor walked over and nudged him in the ribs with the toe of his boot. Flynn mumbled something under his breath, eyelids fluttering as he opened them slowly. When they focused on the knight leaning over him, Flynn scowled.

"You," he said, voice sounding only a little muddled as he regained consciousness. Tor's mouth was set in a thin, grim line; he walked a little distance away without responding to the one-word accusation.

Flynn wasn't finished, however. He stared at Tor as he made a slow circuit around the room, while the guards flanked the door and watched the encounter nervously.

"What could they have possibly have offered you?" The question was almost a whisper. "I would hope that I'm not such a poor judge of character that this has been your plan all along."

Tor froze, looked at Flynn out of the corner of his eye. "No," he finally said. "And nothing. They didn't offer me anything, si—" He stopped himself, hand closing into a fist.

Silence for a moment. "So you hate me that much, then." Flynn exhaled, closed his eyes. "Your strong disapproval of the attack on the armory should have been a hint of some kind, I guess. And yet I'm in shock, honestly. I had thought you were a good man."

The knuckles had whitened in the hand Tor held clenched to his side. "I can't serve someone who I've never truly respected," he said roughly. "And…maybe these people have a point, that no matter who is in power in the Empire, it will always be corrupt."

"You believe that they can do better?" Flynn's words carried a skeptical tone, disbelieving, and Tor frowned.

"I never said I'd _joined_ them," he spat, then glanced over at the guards who watched him blandly. "They know that. I'm just delivering you to their leaders, and then I'll decide what to do from there."

Tor was staring out the small window in the outside wall, and he smacked his fist against the boards in frustration.

"You know what they've already done, don't you? Or have you forgotten."

"I know what_ Mira_ has done," Tor pointed out. "The attack on the council, the murder of your friend…did you know that most of these people are afraid of her? They think she has too much power, that the organization has moved too far away from its original ideals. Freedom for everyone, Flynn. Justice. No one like Noran to lord himself over it all."

Flynn scoffed. "It certainly sounds as if you intend to join them. What will Estellise think?"

In that moment, Tor's face crumpled into a truly stricken expression. He turned away, ran a hand anxiously through red-brown curls.

"Somehow, she'll have to understand," he said, "that I'm doing this for the right reasons."

At this statement, Flynn was quiet for a moment, looked almost pensive. "Everything will end up as it should be," he finally said. "I have confidence, as always, that justice will prevail. Though I have my doubts that you will find any here. I'm sorry that it came to this, Altiren."

Tor shook his head. "So am I." He remained facing away from him, as another minute or so of silence passed.

"Are we done here?" a gravel-voiced guard asked. "You know our boss's orders."

"Yes," said Tor. He stepped toward Flynn once more, and their eyes met as he raised his arm above the former commandant's head.

"Please, don't enjoy this too much," Flynn said sarcastically, before sliding into unconsciousness once more.

* * *

The sun was just about directly overhead when Yuri reached the Market Square, glancing around for any sign of Reuben. It was fairly crowded, with families going into the rows of market stalls and emerging with laden baskets, pulling small children along with them by the hand. Most of the activity was near the entrance to the markets, though; it thinned out near the benches that ringed the center. That was where Yuri was supposed to find him.

When he had returned to the inn where Judy and Repede had retired after pursuing other leads to little result, Yuri's plan for the next day had been met with incredulous laughter.

"Playing matchmaker, are you?" Judy's smile was smug and exceedingly amused. "This should be good. It's too bad I can't come along."

"Hey, now. I know how the game is played." Yuri had closed his eyes, hands laced behind his head. "That's what's important."

Judy hummed doubtfully, dissolving once more into soft laughter when Yuri cracked an eye open to look over at her. "Oh, you make this too easy." She reached down to pat his cheek, rising from a chair to leave for her own room, and that had been the end of their discussion of the topic.

Yuri arrived at the designated meeting spot early—by almost half an hour, in fact—but not out of any sort of desire for punctuality. He was actually hoping for a chance to observe this _Elaina_ from a distance, if she happened to show up before Reuben did. All Yuri had to go off of was a vague and likely idealized description from a lovesick drunk man, but it was better than nothing. There were several small, relatively attractive dark-haired girls in the area, though. The trick was to find one that stood out, that seemed like they could be involved in something suspicious. Everyone had tics, unconscious habits like looking over their shoulder or fiddling with something in their belongings. Unless this woman was poised and confident like Mira, there would be _something_.

There. The girl's face, elfin and delicate, radiated innocence—as did her modest, cheery yellow dress. Like many others, she carried a basket, but she kept rearranging its contents, frowning down at them as if they displeased her. Tapping her foot. A normal young woman waiting for someone to meet her at the market? Maybe. Yuri slumped down onto a bench across the square, tried to keep an eye on her without blatantly doing so. She didn't do anything exciting, unsurprisingly.

"Perfect, ain't she?"

Yuri tilted his head back, found Reuben standing behind him, gazing dreamily at what must, in fact, be Elaina. He made a vague sound of agreement; actually thought she looked a bit too fragile, like she might break at the slightest touch. Of course, if that were true she wouldn't last long in a group like Liberty's Fist. There had already been plenty of lessons learned about deceptive appearances.

At least Reuben had showed. Apparently the idea of trusting a stranger to help him confess his feelings had still looked enticing enough in sober daylight. At least, Yuri assumed he was sober. Considering his track record of visiting that particular tavern, Yuri wouldn't be surprised if the guy had prescribed himself a little something to steel his nerves. He stood, clapped the man's shoulder briefly.

"Alright, Rube. Let's go get you your girl."

It was when they had nearly crossed the square that Yuri noticed that the man looked kind of ill, a sheen of sweat on his forehead and hands clenching and unclenching.

"Maybe…this isn't such a…"

Yuri spun Reuben back around when he started to turn.

"Hey, you can do this. Trust me. No turning back, right?"

"R-right."

He needed a little push to get there, but finally they walked up to where Elaina was standing; Reuben cleared his throat and she turned around.

"Oh, Reuben! There you are. Didn't we say to meet at noon?"

Yuri ducked his head, directing a quick, wry grin at his feet. Yeah, that figured. And also explained her early appearance.

"Did we? Ah, 'm sorry Elaina. But you'll forgive me, won't you?" Reuben flashed a wide grin, and Yuri suppressed a groan. If this was the guy's idea of smooth moves, he was hopeless.

But Elaina only laughed. "For you, okay. But just this once."

…or not? Huh. That was when she seemed to truly notice Yuri standing there for the first time, and her demeanor changed, stiffened somehow. She raised one thin, dark eyebrow and nodded toward him.

"Who's this?" Her warm brown eyes were sharp, now. Not quite so knowing, like Mira's, but they lost a bit of their girlish innocence.

This was either lost on Reuben, or he willfully ignored it. "This is Rin, he's good folk. He wanted to know if there's any work to be had, actually. Told 'im there weren't any at the moment…d'you know of any, 'Laina?"

She shook her head, a quick motion that made her dark hair swish back and forth. Her lips had been pressed tightly together, but seemed to relax a little as she listened to Reuben talking and looked Yuri over more thoroughly. He'd used a cover name from the beginning in this investigation—too much risk of recognition from his infamy in the Lower Quarter and elsewhere after last year's crisis, not to mention recent entanglements with the extremists. Not much he could do about his appearance short of dramatic disguises every time he went out; that hadn't worked with Mira, and he wasn't going to start hiding now.

"Ah, well. What do you have for _me_?"

Elaina looked between them, as if deciding how much to say. "It's just to go to your usual place today. They expect you there in thirty-five minutes. Sorry that it's such short notice, you know how it is." She smiled kindly, adjusted the basket on her arm.

"Thirty-five…" Reuben cursed under his breath. "I was hopin' I'd get a chance to eat a little something before I went. It takes twenty minutes just to _walk_ there, and that's not counting the…" He glanced over at Yuri, stopping himself from saying more.

But Yuri's mind was already working. A twenty-minute walk. There was something linked to extremists, some kind of base, somewhere within that radius. He'd have to compare his notes from Captain Leblanc…

"So, err. Elaina."

Past the market was the shops, fifteen minutes or so in that direction. Beyond that was a residential area. A possibility. The other direction went toward the gates to the Public Quarter; a twenty minute walk put you in the fields. So that one was out.

"Yes? Are you feeling alright?"

Opposite to the gates started up toward the castle, but there was plenty in between. Houses, shops, industrial areas. And then there was the Lower Quarter, of course…

"Oh, uh. Yeah. There's something I want to ask you, though. Just…never thought I'd be brave enough…"

Reuben picked at his nails, scratched at the light stubble on his cheeks nervously. Elaina stood there, eyes wide, anticipating what he might say next.

"You're…the most beautiful thing…person…I've ever seen. And ya laugh at my jokes, even when I'm the only one who seems to think they're funny. So even though I'm sure you're just too nice…would you maybe…"

His nails were black underneath, his jacket sleeves edged in black, but only underneath his wrists. Smudges on fingertips.

"…Reuben."

"Forget it. It was stupid. I only did this because Rin…"

"Okay."

Black fingertips. Black fingertips. Not coal. That looks different.

"…okay?"

"If you're asking for a date, then…okay." Elaina laughed brightly.

Wait. Wait. Ink? A printing press. _Yes_.

Yuri didn't realize that he'd hissed the word aloud until two pairs of eyes swung over to look at him.

"Uh. Yes!" He smiled, flashing a brief congratulatory thumbs-up. "I'm glad this worked out. But I have to get going now. Good to meet you, Elaina. Reuben."

He didn't wait for Reuben's sputtered farewells—was sure he'd quickly get over his drinking partner's abrupt departure considering the success with Elaina. Yuri was on a mission, and he never let himself forget what side he was on.

* * *

Flynn awoke with a throbbing headache—again. This time, however, he was alone. The waves had quieted somewhat, though the boards still creaked as if they might burst open at any moment. Considering the way he had been tied, he could drown in a few inches of water if this place sprung a leak. How comforting.

By the sun streaming through the cabin's window, several more hours had passed. He hoped that they might untie him before long; extremists or no, it seemed unreasonable to keep a man like this, especially locked up and unarmed, with only the endless miles of ocean to run to. The ropes had begun to chafe at his wrists, though at least he had been unconscious for much of the time. That wasn't pleasant, either, but Flynn would take an upside if he could find one.

He didn't have much time to be alone with his thoughts. As if somehow sensing his recent return to consciousness, the door lock clicked and began to turn. Only one individual stepped through, closing the door behind him.

"Oh, no one to hold your hand this time?"

Tor snorted and looked back toward the corridor, shaking his head. Then he sobered and approached Flynn, crouching down next to him.

"I didn't mean to hit you so hard," he said. Reached out fingers toward what felt stiff and matted as the hair was gently pushed around. Flynn couldn't see it, of course, hadn't been free to investigate it himself. He only knew that it hurt like hell whenever he was awake.

"No, it needed to be convincing," said Flynn. He winced, and Tor withdrew his hand. "How did you get away? You shouldn't come to me like this. If they find you…"

"I guess I'd have to hit you again. Sorry." Tor attempted a grin, weak and wavering. "I don't know, they stopped guarding my room after…last time."

Flynn nodded once. That encounter had been key, vital to their plan having any chance of working. It was still insane. And even though he was the one imprisoned and bleeding, Flynn couldn't help feeling responsible for the outcome.

"They must have believed you, then. That's good. Ah, I'm sorry for mentioning Lady Estellise…that was never part of our discussions."

That had been the only moment to throw off the young knight's composure, and Flynn's heart had hammered in his chest as soon as the words had been spoken. Tor had recovered, and his response still fit his act, but Estellise was a very sensitive issue. Flynn was asking Tor to do something that may very well result in the woman he loved hating him, if no one was around to tell her the truth. And at the moment, the only two people in possession of that knowledge were on this ship.

Tor brought a hand to his forehead, exhaled. "It's alright. I have to be prepared for anything. And I came into this willingly, even though it…isn't easy." He coughed out a laugh at the understatement.

"You did well, Altiren. Maybe a little too well; those were some very compelling arguments for joining the extremists."

Tor smiled a little. "I was almost starting to believe it, myself. But…this is only the beginning."

"I'm afraid that's true. You must do everything you can to keep them believing you've defected, Tor. Don't worry about me."

"I'm going to get you out of here. Not now," he amended at the look of concern on Flynn's face, "but I promise that I will."

Flynn shook his head. "If I'm to escape, you can't have anything to do with it. You must have an airtight alibi. Do you understand?"

"No," said Tor, mouth tightening. "I mean…yes. I still don't like this part of the plan."

"Neither do I," said Flynn, forcing a wry smile. "But I have faith in you, and in the knights. And my friends. Now you must go; you can't come and speak with me like this again. It's too dangerous."

Tor sighed, defeated. "Alright. But I'll see if I can get you untied, at least. Make them think it was their idea. Is _that_ okay?"

"I'd appreciate that." Flynn laughed, closed his eyes briefly. "Please be careful."

"Yes." The omitted 'sir' hung in the air; another part of their agreement, as that one short word overheard could be incriminating on its own. Tor turned to the door, paused and looked back. His expression was so conflicted that Flynn had to let his eyes slip shut again, feigning sleep that would not come for many hours.

* * *

A/N: Hmm, where are they taking Flynn? I _won-der._ XD


	28. Bound

**28. Bound**

The streets of Zaphias were winding and narrow in many places, a maze of cobblestone avenues switching back and forth up to the peak of the hill, where the castle and now-dormant Sword Stair barrier blastia made a striking display of imperial power. In all parts of the capital, space was at a premium—buildings crowded close together, with only the narrowest of alleys for separation.

It was this fact that allowed Yuri and Judith to make their way from rooftop to rooftop, swiftly and quietly. When they heard a sharp bark, unremarkable to anyone else with all the stray dogs around, they knew to hide themselves from view. It was a good system—Yuri dug deep into his knowledge of the city, listening for Repede, and hoping he would be able to distinguish this one brick building from the others just like it lining the streets. It would not look suspicious. It would be the definition of ordinary.

The printing press was next to an old silver smith's shop that had shut down several years ago. It had been replaced by a carpenter, Yuri thought. He leapt lightly onto its roof behind Judy and crouched, listening. A faint rasping, metal on boards. He thought he could smell wood shavings. They were close. He met Judy's eye and nodded.

"This is it," he said, practically mouthing the words as he indicated the next building. If it was like most places in the city, there would be rooftop access, or at least a window they could enter through if all else failed. And if by chance Yuri was mistaken and broke into the wrong building—well, it wouldn't be the first time.

After so many dealings with Mira and her clever manipulations, Yuri was almost shocked at how easy it was to infiltrate a lower-level extremist hideout. He reminded himself that the organization had only recently developed any strong leadership; for decades they had attempted to terrorize the capital and other places, but usually were much too splintered to be effective. Take away that source of power and they were just people, rebelling against injustice in the only way that they knew how.

This was a weak link in the chain, and Yuri was going to exploit it.

The wooden hatch that led down into the printshop opened reluctantly on rusty hinges; Yuri held it open and hopped in after Judith, then let it resettle flush against the flat roof. He hated that Repede wasn't able to come with them, but it would have been nearly impossible to get him up there in the first place. Maybe he would be able to sneak in on the first floor somewhere. Yuri knew better than to underestimate that dog's capabilities.

"I love what they've done with the place," said Judy, dragging her finger through a thick covering of dust on a nearby stack of boxes. They had dropped down into what was, apparently, some kind of storage room. It didn't look like the extremists had needed to use this as an entrance or exit for a while, if at all. Again, too easy.

The door leading out of the room opened nearly as noisily as the hatch had. Yuri winced, but no one shouted or came running down the hall. There _were_ other people here, weren't there? It occurred to him that this entire mission was based on an assumption from observing Reuben. But really, what other choice did they have? It had made sense at the time. It still did.

They had passed several empty rooms and turned a corner when Yuri heard something rustling at the end of the hallway. There was a closed door there; he listened for voices for a moment, then turned to Judith and shrugged. The knob turned easily, silently.

Inside, it was dark—a window on the far side was hung with heavy curtains, and dust motes floated down in what little light broke through there. A long table lined one side of the room, cluttered with books and papers. A few simple wooden chairs had been placed at fairly regular intervals along it. As for the rest of the room, it was mostly filled with cages.

Some of them were empty, some covered by long pieces of cloth, as if there was really any light to block out. But more than a few were occupied; Yuri peered into the gloom as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Birds, large and small. Some had their heads tucked under a wing, but others stared back at him boldly with dark, glistening eyes. Ugh.

Yuri stepped further into the room, and one of the birds flapped against its cage, squawking at him. He flinched back instinctually and cursed as feathers floated down around him.

"What the hell," he muttered, ignoring Judy's barely stifled giggle. It was all kind of creepy. Creepier than usual, for Liberty's Fist.

"Oh, don't you like ravens?" Judy clasped her hands behind her back, leaning closer to the larger cage of the bird that had just tried to attack him. It swiveled and tilted its head to look at her.

"Heh, the human kind already gives me enough to deal with. So, what. They have some kind of bird-messenger system going?"

"Hmm. It seems that way. That _would_ be effective."

"You'd think they would have something like this guarded," said Yuri, ignoring the evil look that the raven was giving him.

"Lucky for us it is not. So, shall we look at those papers?" Judy took Yuri by the arm and led him to the table. There didn't seem to be any order or system to it; Judy went down to the other end and picked up a scrap, holding it up in the dim light.

A sour ache settled in Yuri's stomach as he looked at the letters and folded bits of paper. It was bitterly familiar—last time, a task like this one had been followed by one of the worst nights of Yuri's life. Visions of bright, warm blood, pooling under his fingers, staining his clothes. He swallowed, shut his eyes. There were times, now, where he didn't relive Lucas being stabbed, dying in front of him. Not often, but sometimes. Then it would wash over him again, fresh and just as horrible.

"Yuri?"

He looked over at Judy, who was regarding him seriously. Nodded at her, and picked up one of the papers. At first Yuri could barely register what as actually written on the page, but his focus quickly sharpened. Something big was going down. References to preparations being made, groups of extremists being assembled, jobs assigned. Yuri scanned the papers quickly yet thoroughly, pointing out specific details to Judy whenever they seemed important. She did the same. Slowly, they built a picture of a large-scale plan. And then, unfolding an innocuous looking slip of paper, Yuri's mouth went dry.

"No." He clenched his teeth and held onto the paper so tightly that it was in danger of tearing.

"Hm? What is it?"

"Damn it," Yuri hissed, slamming the paper back down onto the table with his open palm. "They have Flynn. They're bringing him here."

He inhaled sharply through his nose, and Judith carefully pried the paper out to look at it. Suddenly, her expression was very serious.

"I let him leave," Yuri muttered to no one in particular. "He asked me not to interfere, but why the _hell_ did I listen to him? Why start then?"

Judith glanced over at him, clearly concerned. "It doesn't say precisely where he will be taken. Perhaps…in another paper…"

They had been through most of them already, but spent several more minutes scanning the rest for any possible clue. Anything that might remotely be relevant was pocketed. Yuri seethed with anger—at Mira, at Liberty's Fist in general, at himself. From the sound of that note, Flynn wouldn't even arrive in the city for at least a couple of days. Yuri couldn't do _anything._ And at the moment, that was the worst part.

Finally, they reached a point where there was nothing new to look at. Yuri sighed in disgust and resisted the urge to sweep all the papers off of the table, to join the dust and the feathers. He and Judith left the room, shutting the door behind them.

"What now?" Judy asked lightly.

With the papers in hand, it might have been prudent of them to make their exit while the extremists were still unaware of their presence. Prudence, though, had never been one of Yuri Lowell's virtues.

"We're staying," said Yuri. "The information we need isn't here. This is our best chance of finding out where Flynn is going to be."

Judith was silent. After a moment, she inclined her head briefly. They were at the top of a staircase that had a dingy-looking carpet running down its center.

"Ladies first," Yuri said, motioning toward them.

"Age before beauty," she replied, winking.

"Ouch, Judy."

They reached the ground floor, which wasn't nearly as dark and depressing as the one above. Yuri was trying to determine what their next action should be when the decision was made for him.

"Rin? What're you doing here?"

For half a second, Yuri stopped breathing. But it was Reuben, just Reuben, who probably wouldn't sound the alarm right away, would he? The man was standing in an open doorway that led to a room filled with stacks of papers—his fingers were stained with fresh ink.

Yuri grinned. "Would you believe I was given a job here?" Reuben's brow was furrowing, and he glanced down the hall uncertainly. "No? Alright, then."

Before Reuben could do anything, Yuri stepped forward and pressed him back into the room, a hand clamped over his mouth. Judith slipped in behind him and closed the door.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said. "I know all you have to go on for that is my word, and hey, if I were you I wouldn't trust me either. But I really need for you to cooperate right now."

"Mmph," said Reuben, eyes wide. It wasn't clear if that was a good sign or not, but eventually he nodded. Yuri raised an eyebrow as he slowly removed his hand.

"We're not the bad guys, Rube," he continued. "And I don't think you're one, either. But these people you're working for? They're bad news."

Reuben licked his lips. "I…I'm just trying to make a little money. It's rough out there, ya know? I don't know nothing."

Yuri looked up at the ceiling and sighed, hands on hips. "Well, I'm counting on the fact that you do. You pass a lot of messages back and forth, right? Are they spoken or written down?"

"Err…both, really. But they normally don't mean nothin' to me. In code, I think."

Yuri glanced over at Judith. If most of their messages were in code… The Krityan woman wore a speculative expression. Well, they could deal with that later.

"Okay, Rube. Think back to the past couple of days. Did you send any messages along, anything about holding a person somewhere, or someone important arriving in Zaphias?"

The man scratched his face, looking off to the side as he considered this. "Y'know, I got my job 'cause I'm good at memorizin'. So I can keep a lot of 'em in my head for a while. Don't remember anything that sounded like that, though."

"Tell me some."

True to his word, Reuben began rattling off nonsensical-sounding sentences, barely pausing between them. Yuri—and Judith as well, he assumed—mentally tested each one for something that might apply to Flynn.

"Hold on. What was that last one again?"

"Er. _The broken sword_ _is dull_. _Let it rest among the aging barrels_…?"

That had to be it. A dull sword was harmless, especially when its power had been broken like Flynn's had by the extremists' plots. And as for the aging barrels…

"So, that means he'll probably be in a cellar of some kind. Wine ages in barrels." Judy nodded at Yuri's statement, but Reuben just looked between them in confusion.

"That doesn't give us much to go on," Judy pointed out. "Though it is something."

"I don't have any more information," said Reuben, hesitantly. "What're you goin' to do with me now?"

Yuri clasped his shoulder. "I'm going to use you, Rube. Grab a fresh sheet of paper. I need a list of all the pubs, bars and taverns that you know."

It would, he suspected, be a long list. And it might not even lead him to Flynn in the end. If the coded message wasn't about him, if the cellar was in a private residence, if Flynn was moved before Yuri got there. But he wasn't concerned with all the things that could go wrong. He only knew that he had to get there—and that he would.

"Listen," said Yuri, taking the paper from Reuben's ink-stained hands. "What you want to do now is up to you. Get the hell out of here, report us to your superiors, whatever. Tell them Yuri Lowell sent you. And good luck with that girl of yours."

Reuben just blinked at him, the poor guy. And that was how Yuri and Judith left him; when they got further down the hall and no alarm sounded, Yuri smirked, if without much humor. He hoped that he wouldn't ever be forced to kill him. At this point, there was no certainty.

Yuri couldn't hope to gain more knowledge of Flynn's situation than this. It was entirely possible—even likely—that no one in this building knew any more than that. Time to leave, then; time to start looking. Even if Flynn wouldn't be there yet, the evidence probably would. Yuri would look everywhere twice if he had to. He turned the knob of a door that he hoped would lead to an exit.

The door opened onto a large room filled with sound and motion. Metal clanked and papers rustled, the large blastia-powered machines that once would have been running ignored in favor of more traditional typesetting. It smelled like ink and sweat and oil. Beneath it all was a hum of conversation, which slowed and halted as heads swiveled to look at Yuri. He shut the door again, firmly.

"That's the front," he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

"Is it, now." Judy shook her head delicately, an amused smile on her lips. "Are they going to come after us?"

"Seems likely."

"Then we'll just have to be ready for them." A short spear twirled expertly in Judy's hands, loosened from where she had it strapped to her back. Yuri grasped the hilt of his own weapon as they both backed down the corridor to make their stand. They waited, tense and expectant, for the first member of Liberty's Fist to charge through the door. And that was when they heard the barking.

Judy arched an eyebrow as Yuri glanced over at her, then shrugged. They sprinted forward and threw open the door.

Halfway across the room, Repede had leapt up onto a long table and was charging down it, scattering papers as he slashed from side to side with the dagger clenched between his teeth. People leapt out of the way of the snarling canine, ducking and diving wherever his blade fell, and Yuri wondered why he hadn't thought of using Repede just for this purpose before. The extremists obviously didn't know what to make of the warrior dog, and that confusion bought them some time.

"Shall we?" Judith tilted her head toward the chaos, and Yuri grinned, feeling the adrenaline of an impending fight rush through him.

"Yeah, let's do this."

* * *

The floor was firm, but in his mind's eye Flynn could still feel it rocking. It was always dark; they'd blindfolded him when he had been pushed stumbling down the narrow staircase into his new cell, though for what purpose he could not fathom. It wasn't as if he had anyone to tell his secrets to.

The relief Flynn felt at the fact that Tor did not risk another visit, however, was bittersweet. Ironically, it was only after he had arrived on land that the extremists had seen fit to remove the ropes binding his wrists and ankles. The sores itched and stung at the lightest of touches. Flynn was guarded around the clock, given bread and a shallow bowl of broth twice a day. His physical strength, he knew, would run out long before his mental strength did.

As for the room itself, there were no windows, only the one door, locked securely. When Flynn mustered the strength—and courage—to investigate the stains on the straw around him, he was relieved to find they smelled like wine, rather than something more ominous. He slept. He kept his mind sharp and focused. He wondered how Tor was faring, if after everything this would be enough for Liberty's Fist to accept his defection. If anyone was coming for him. If he would only be redeemed in his sacrifice.

He had been there for several days, or maybe just a handful—without daylight, it was difficult to tell. The seconds and minutes and hours ran together. It was after some undeterminable amount of time, then, that Flynn blinked at the arc of light appearing in the cellar doorway. He had received his meal not long ago, such as it was, so it was with some confusion that he rolled over in the straw to look at his visitor. Immediately, he kind of wished that he hadn't.

"My, you don't look well." Mira tsked, stepping daintily through the straw until she could peer down at him. Her shiny leather heels and glamorous attire looked out of place, but the smug expression was all too familiar.

Flynn said nothing. He refused to give her the satisfaction, though he suspected that she would be getting plenty of it already.

"Imagine my surprise," she continued, "when I heard the news. One can never quite know who to trust these days. Hm." Mira pursed her lips thoughtfully, or at least made a show of doing so. Watching her, Flynn wondered in a detached sort of way if the woman had any real motivation for keeping him alive. His eyes drifted unconsciously to the elegant dagger sheathed at her hip; Mira chuckled richly.

"Oh, no," she said, running a hand idly through her hair. "You really have the wrong idea entirely. We have much more in store for you than your death."

Flynn frowned a little. "I don't—" he tried to say, but his voice rasped and stuck.

"You see, a dead Flynn Scifo is a far more dangerous prospect than a live one. You," she said, "would make the _perfect_ martyr."

Mira circled around as Flynn lifted up on his elbows, watching her. This was the part where Yuri would suggest where the redhead could put her snide comments and not-so-veiled threats, but Flynn waited to see what else she had to say. Knowing Mira, there was a purpose to it. She wanted to rile, to shake his confidence.

"I'm disappointed," she was saying. "Some of the plans I had in mind to trap you were exquisite, really. Yet you were betrayed by one of your own in the end. It's poetic, yes, but no less disappointing."

Flynn cleared his throat. "Sorry," he said flatly. "But I have to say, it's nice to finally see your words match your cruelty."

Mira's green eyes widened, and then she threw her head back, laughing brightly.

"Oh, you _are_ a brave one. We shall see how long that lasts, hm?" Her lips curved into a smile, mocking. "Everyone breaks, Flynn Scifo. It is, as they say, only a matter of time."

The door closed, cloaking the room in darkness once more. Flynn lay on his back in the straw, with only drafts and muffled voices to keep him company, but suspected that would not be true for much longer. The days of him being left to thought and solitude had passed. With Mira's arrival, the true test had begun.

* * *

Buildings started to look the same, after a while. Cross a name off the list. Wait, had he been here before? Check the list again. Yuri crept up the stairs to the inn every night, collapsing into bed and rolling out of it with the dawn. He wasn't alone; he wasn't the only one searching. But this still belonged to him. It was Flynn. He didn't have a choice.

Panic tried to creep into his throat, and he stamped it down. Yuri couldn't afford to lose his focus, not even for a moment. He wondered if this was a fraction of what it was like for Flynn after he fell from Zaude—the uncertainty, the unflagging determination. Yuri knew he must seem like a madman, bursting into tavern cellars and growling pointed questions at baffled bartenders. But he really didn't care. The places blurred together, one day became two, then three and four.

When the sun came up again, Yuri was already on the streets, squinting and shading his eyes against a bright morning. It was wash day in the Lower Quarter, and the women called out to him in greeting. They murmured among themselves when he barely looked their way. He had already forgotten about them. There were only two locations left on his list; thinking about going back to the beginning, or having to look somewhere else entirely, Yuri crumpled the paper in his fist. It wasn't the first time. The sheet was scored and wrinkled from earlier frustrations.

It was definitely spring—the birds were out, disregarding Yuri's dark mood as they burst into song. He glared at one that was perched on a nearby roof, warbling away cheerfully, then stopped in his tracks. Yuri mumbled an apology as he pushed his way through the crowd and peered up at the bird. It had something on its leg. It looked like a piece of yellow paper was rolled around it.

Pulse racing, Yuri swept his gaze over the building itself. Not a bar. Not a tavern. He swore under his breath, hating that he might have been wasting all that time, even if there was nothing else he could have done. This could be it. It could just as easily be a dead end, a completely unrelated extremist hideout. Well, like Karol said—now or never.

In retrospect, he probably should have planned it out better. Crashing into a place, sword in hand, tended to work for him, though. He was either cursed or had a hell of a lot of luck. Take your pick. Both were probably true.

Mira was seated at a small table, legs crossed, a teacup raised to her lips. She arched a brow as she set it back down onto the saucer. Behind her stood Cyrus, who rested his hands on the back of her chair. There were others, Yuri thought, but he barely registered them.

"Ah, there you are," said Mira. "I'm surprised that it took you this long, really."

Anger seared Yuri's mind, sharp and white-hot. Mira knew where Flynn was, and he would cut the information out of her if he had to. He surged forward and Cyrus slid out from behind Mira, unsheathing his own sword and staring him down with those unsettlingly familiar brown eyes. So, this was how it would be.

"Wait."

Cyrus froze at the sound of Mira's voice, glared back at her. She regarded him coolly.

"He should die. We don't need him," he said, fingers twitching around the hilt of his sword. His voice was tight, strained.

"Perhaps," Mira agreed, dipping her head. Yuri snorted derisively. "But those were not our orders."

Cyrus looked as if he desperately wanted to argue that point; his jaw spasmed, but after a moment, he nodded stiffly. His sword arm lowered to his side. "Later," he promised darkly.

"Yes, yes. You may satisfy your bloodlust just as soon as he's deemed expendable. He won't be going anywhere until then, at any rate. Marten?"

Narrowing his eyes, Yuri moved to whirl around, but a large pair of hands closed around his biceps. He struggled, heard a hiss of pain as his sword made a shallow gash across the man's leg.

"Oh, disarm him already." Mira waved a hand through the air, and several men—who had apparently been in the room the whole time, but were inconsequential beside Mira and Cyrus—advanced, weapons brandished.

Yuri bared his teeth, twisting and lashing out with what range of motion that he had. One of the extremists clutched at his stomach and went down, but that still left more than he could handle alone, restrained like this. He nearly growled with frustration, heart pounding. His sword clattered to the floor.

"Much better. See to Calum, would you?" A couple of the extremists rushed to the wounded man's side, who cursed and groaned weakly as they examined him. Meanwhile, Yuri's mind was running through what he should do next. He wasn't out of this yet. Even if they shackled him to a wall, put all their resources behind keeping him locked away, he was never out of it.

His captor's grip was painfully tight—Yuri thought he remembered the man as one that had been present when he and Flynn had interrupted that meeting. When they had met Lucas. That felt like a very long time ago, somehow. Before things started falling apart.

Mira held a hand out, examining her nails. "Well, you came all this way for a reason, I imagine. Would you like to go see him? Not that you have much choice in the matter."

She nodded to Marten, who started to drag Yuri further into the room, toward a door on the far side. Yuri was proud of the fact that it took two other burly men helping to finally get him over there, because there was no way he was going down without a fight. By the time the door closed and they began to descend a staircase with Yuri pushed ahead of them, his skull was pounding from head-butting Marten in the jaw and his nose, punched by one of the other extremists, _might_ have been broken. He spat the blood that was trickling down onto his lips.

There was another door at the foot of the stair, with a heavy board swung down across it and locked securely. One of the extremists dug out a key and then moved the board, grunting with the effort. The wine cellar was on the small side, since it was apparently a personal collection rather than one belonging to a business, and Yuri couldn't see any dark shapes that could be barrels. They must have moved them out. This was all he had time to determine before Marten released his vice-like grip on Yuri's arms, pushing him with great force into the room. He stumbled forward, palms hitting a thin layer of straw spread on the floor.

"They executed Leon last week," Marten rumbled behind him. "You better hope that Cyrus gets to you before I do. _He_ might make it quick."

With that, the door slammed shut and the board rasped back into place. The cellar, already dimly lit before, was now a place of indistinct shadows. Yuri could make out what was immediately around him, but not much further.

"Flynn?" Yuri stood and crept further into the room; eventually, his hands made contact with a wall of cool stone. He kept his fingertips on it as he made his way around the cellar's perimeter. One shuffling step at a time. When his boot bumped gently into something much softer than stone, Yuri's heart leapt into his throat. He sank to his knees, hands fluttering around, trying to touch flesh.

His skin was warm; Yuri let out a long breath, then realized it was much _too_ warm. He moved around until he could find Flynn's forehead and pressed his hand across it. Flynn's bangs were sticking to his brow with sweat.

"Hey, can you hear me? You're burning up."

Flynn groaned softly, curling toward Yuri with his legs pulled up toward his chest. Yuri reached down to check the strength of his pulse, and recoiled. Flynn's wrists were raw, crusted with sores that Yuri was sure wouldn't be pleasant to look at in the light. He turned and glared in the direction of the closed door. Bastards.

Not knowing what else to do, Yuri set to removing Flynn's shirt, working the sleeves gently down over his wrists. It was too warm for this kind of weather, anyway, even without the fever. Dazed, Flynn tried to bat Yuri's hands away, but eventually submitted to his ministrations, punctuated with a few more anguished groans that only fueled Yuri's anger at the extremists. For a while, that and his frustration at the failed rescue attempt overrode his relief that he had found Flynn alive. He leaned his head back against the stone, hurting in about half a dozen places, exhausted mentally and physically.

"…Yuri?"

It was the barest, rasping whisper, yet it set Yuri's pulse racing. He pushed away from the wall and reached out in the gloom, hand sliding up Flynn's arm to settle across his shoulder—a touch as much to reassure himself as for Flynn.

"Yeah. I'm here."

* * *

A/N: Hahaha, first scene = Longest. Glass Fortress scene. Ever. And the last scene? Yeah. I've had something pretty close to this in my head since the very beginning. *grins*


	29. Weakness

**29. Weakness**

When Flynn didn't say anything else, Yuri leaned back against the wall again—he kept one hand on Flynn's shoulder, and with the other balled up the shirt and held it against his nose. He decided that it wasn't broken, probably, bu_t man_ did it hurt. Every few minutes he would pull the shirt away and squint down at the pale material, trying to discern whether the blood was still flowing.

He didn't sit there thinking deep thoughts, exactly. No, he took out each of the facts and looked at them, acknowledged them, turned them over in his mind. For example, Flynn was in pretty bad shape. He probably had been for a while, or at least had been heading that way. And, more importantly, he wasn't going to get better just lying here locked away in a damp and stuffy cellar. Yuri sighed, frustrated. They should have been on their way back to the inn by now, where they could given Flynn medicine and plenty of rest. Instead, Yuri was just as stuck. For now, anyway.

In the meantime, he would just have to work with what they had.

"Hey, you awake?" He tapped Flynn lightly with one finger, and got a barely audible hum in response. "Do they bring you anything to drink? Water?"

Flynn was silent for a moment, breathing in and out, before he spoke. Yuri leaned in closer so they he could hear.

"Mm, broth twice a day. …Lately, I haven't been strong enough, though."

He hadn't eaten? Geez, no wonder he was so bad off.

"When's the last time they brought it?"

"…I don't know. I've been sleeping. Maybe I still am." Flynn chuckled harshly, and Yuri tightened the grip on his shoulder.

"Stop that. I'm here, alright? And I'm going to get you out of here." Yuri's eyes rolled to the ceiling, and he muttered the last under his breath. "Somehow…"

Relinquishing his hold on Flynn for a moment, Yuri felt around blindly for anything that might be a dish or cup of some kind. He was about to give up when his fingertips brushed against metal—he dragged the bowl closer, and some of its contents sloshed over his hand. It was hard to tell if it was even lukewarm, but it had to have been at least from earlier that day. Besides, they'd eaten worse in the Lower Quarter as kids than hours-cold broth. Yuri went to the wall again and followed it back to Flynn.

He sat next to him, placed a hand on one hip. "Now, how are we going to do this…?"

"Hm?"

"You've got to eat something, Flynn. Do you think you can sit at all?"

In reply, Flynn moved, lifting himself up onto an elbow. Yuri maneuvered the bowl so that he held it while Flynn brought it to his lips with his free hand, taking a couple of gulps before pushing it away.

"Not exactly gourmet," he said, and Yuri could imagine the grimace on his face even if he couldn't really see it. "Thank you."

When Flynn returned to his previous position, lying on his side on the floor, Yuri wondered how much of an effort that had been. As Flynn had moved, he'd hissed sharply more than once, and his wrists were probably the culprit. But there was nothing they could do about that.

For some reason, everything that Yuri had known about fevers had gone out the window. Even though sweat could often mean a fever breaking, he was surprised when Flynn's teeth started chattering several minutes later.

"I'm fine," he said tightly, when Yuri asked.

"No, you're not. Cut it out. You're so stubborn."

Flynn huffed a laugh. "_I'm_ stubborn."

"Yeah, you are." Yuri endured Flynn shivering against his knee for just a moment more, then sighed in exasperation and slid down beside him. The straw where he had found Flynn was a bit thicker than elsewhere in the room; considering that he really doubted the extremists cared about the comfort of their prisoners, Yuri figured that he must have piled it up before he had gotten sick. It wasn't_ comfortable_ by any means, but also wasn't as bad as it looked.

Flynn stiffened with surprise as Yuri looped an arm around his waist, pulling him close. He could feel Flynn's breath on his cheek, coming just a little fast and uneven.

"That better?"

Flynn was still shivering, but it seemed to be calming a bit.

"Yes," he said.

"Sorry," said Yuri, adjusting so that his elbow wasn't digging into Flynn's hip. "I'm a poor substitute for a blanket. But hey, you make do, right?"

"Mm."

Flynn shifted, and his forehead bumped gently against Yuri's; they lapsed into a comfortable silence. In a minute, they could run through their options for an escape plan, slim as those might be. Maybe Yuri could reuse the one that had broken Judy and him out of their cell at Ghasfarost. He smirked at the memory, but wondered if there was any chance Mira would fall for that.

"Hey," he said softly. "What happened, anyway? Where did you go?"

There was a long pause, and Yuri narrowed his eyes. If Flynn wasn't even able to tell him _now_…

"I was in Desier," Flynn finally answered. "Southeast of Mt. Temza. We…we were trying to prevent an attack on an Imperial base, or stage a rescue if that failed."

"And?"

"…It went badly. I believe the other knights escaped, but I was captured."

Yuri expelled a breath and shook his head briefly. "That doesn't seem like you, Flynn. Someone managing to get the drop on you like that."

"You're the one always pointing out that I can't be perfect all the time."

The statement was wry, calling up countless arguments they'd had in the past. Yuri snorted, pushing hair that was falling down into his face away with his free hand.

"Yeah, well. It just seems more like the kind of situation _I'd_ fall into." He laughed again, quietly. "I mean, look at me now. Some rescue, huh?"

Yuri could feel Flynn shaking his head. When he spoke, it was tinged with fatigue, and Yuri resolved to not wear him out with further conversation on the topic.

"That's not your fault, Yuri. You found me, at least." Flynn took a deep breath and let it out. "…I'm beginning to feel warm again. This fever seems to come and go."

Yuri slid back a little, confirming that the warmth on Flynn's brow wasn't just from shared body heat. He moved to sit up, and was stopped by a surprisingly strong grip around his wrist.

"Sorry, just…" Flynn released him and paused, as if searching for the words. "…It helps."

Instead of moving away, Yuri nodded slowly, adjusting so that they were only touching where Flynn had his knees bent. Without thinking too much about it, he slid his hand down and laced his fingers with Flynn's, an unconscious imitation of a comforting gesture from their childhood, from when they really only had each other. Except that the hand curled around his definitely belonged to a man, not a child. It squeezed once, firmly, and Yuri wondered for a second if anything had ever changed at all. If everything had. He closed his eyes.

* * *

Flynn dreamed for what felt like a very long time. They were confused, nonsensical; his mind flitted from one place to another, until it was difficult to tell whether it was somewhere he had actually been or simply his dream convincing him that he had. Few of the dreams were pleasant, and when he opened his eyes to the darkness, he half-wondered if he had ever stopped. But slowly through the fog of his mind came a renewed awareness of the hand clasped comfortably around his, resting at chest-level in the straw between them. It was a pity, he thought dimly, that he was too sick to enjoy it.

Beside him, Yuri shifted, and Flynn became aware of the reason that he had awakened at that moment. The stairs outside the cellar door creaked, footsteps striking them as at least one person descended. To Flynn's surprise, Yuri didn't relinquish his grip even when the door swung open—it provided little extra light, this time; the visitors must have shut the door at the top of the staircase behind them. Instead, a circle of lantern light was thrust into the room. Flynn didn't bother with the extra effort it would have taken to turn around.

"Well, well. Isn't this touching."

Though he was facing away from her, Flynn could imagine the smug expression that would be playing on Mira's deceptively beautiful face. Yuri had raised up onto an elbow and was glaring at her over Flynn's shoulder.

"Make up your mind, Mirabel," he said, tone cold and even. "Do you want him to die of exposure, or die of thirst? Sorry, but you can't have it both ways."

"…I beg your pardon?"

"I'm just saying that I knew you were cold-hearted, but now I'm pretty sure you don't have one."

There was a dull, clomping sound as Mira crossed the room in her requisite fancy heels. A long-nailed hand grasped Flynn by the shoulder and he tumbled onto his back, staring blearily up at the woman and gritting his teeth against the pain. There was a long moment where Mira scanned his face, her own drawn and tight-lipped. She made a disgusted sound before releasing him and returning to the other side of the cellar, where two guards shifted from foot to foot near the door.

"Must I do everything for myself?" Mira's voice was the closest that Flynn had ever heard it come to panic. "Clearly I must, considering that I sent one of you brutes down twice a day and no one bothered to inform me that our prisoner was _deathly ill_."

"Er, Lady Mira…"

"Yes? I would dearly love to hear your explanation."

There was a long, ominous pause.

"He…he never comes to fetch his broth, and the cellar is awfully dark…"

"No," Mira snapped. "Do you realize what will happen if he dies, you idiot? We are _finished_. Everything we've fought for, just because you were too lazy to shine a lantern on him every now and then. I should make an example of you for this. Both of you."

Flynn exchanged a sidelong glance with Yuri as another pause hung in the air. Mira clicked her tongue.

"Unfortunately, at the moment I can't spare anyone. Your punishment will have to come later. Now, you, come upstairs with me. You, guard them."

With one last, exasperated look back into the cellar, Mira retreated back upstairs. Clearly immensely relieved that his head remained on his shoulders and his blood within his veins, the guard watched them impassively with crossed arms, darting nervous glances at the door.

Perhaps a quarter of an hour passed in this manner until the footsteps sounded once again, more quickly this time. The guard, who was leaning against the wall, flinched back as the door was flung open beside him. Mira stalked into the room following the man she had dragged upstairs—and behind her was Tor.

Flynn hadn't seen the man since their conversation on the ship; his face looked tired and grim. Tor's knight armor and uniform had been replaced with clothing that was fairly non-descript, more in fitting with the extremists. But even in the dim light, there was no mistaking him. He hovered at Mira's side, leaning in to listen as she spoke quietly.

Yuri had gone very still, and Flynn dreaded what he might find in his expression. His presence had not been a part of any of their plans. However, there was no time for anyone to react. Tor nodded sharply, and Mira turned away and tramped through the straw until she stood over Flynn. He bit back a shout as she pulled him up by one arm and curled a hand around his jaw, coaxing it open. The lacquered nails pinched at Flynn's skin. Mira snapped, and an uncorked vial was placed in her other hand. There was no other warning.

The liquid was bitter, poured down his throat so that he nearly gagged and choked trying to swallow. Out of the corner of his eye, Flynn could see that Yuri was already on his feet.

"—the hell do you think you're doing?"

Tor put out his hands in an attempt to stop him from interfering. "It's just medicine. I watched it being made myself."

"Yeah? And why should I believe you_?_ You're on their side now."

There was a brief moment that only Flynn would be able to detect, Tor's brows dipping a fraction in confusion. It was clear that Yuri's disdain was sincere, and Flynn hadn't told the knight that he had yet to decide what or how much Yuri should know. Considering the extreme delicacy of their situation, a loose cannon was the last thing they needed. No matter how much the thought of keeping his closest friend in the dark turned his stomach. For the moment, they had no other choice.

"He has a point, Tor," Mira said lightly, dabbing at the corner of Flynn's mouth with a cloth until he wrenched his head away. "But don't fret. I have no desire for him to die more quickly. Or at all, for that matter. You will simply have to trust me."

She smiled, feral and guileless, and Yuri snorted.

"Yeah, that's going to happen." He cast his gaze on Flynn for a moment, eyes narrowed, as if waiting to be sure he wouldn't collapse into a fit of spasms or something similar. Then he turned, facing Tor, who watched them both.

"How much?" Yuri tilted his head to one side, hand planted on a hip.

"How…what?"

"To buy you. How much gald did they promise?"

Before Tor could answer, Mira cleared her throat.

"I think I'll leave you boys to this delightful conversation."

She clasped Tor's shoulder as she passed, and he smiled wanly back at her. The door closed; the guards remained. While Yuri faced away from him, Flynn caught Tor's eye and shook his head minutely. Wisely, Tor did nothing to acknowledge this message, but he seemed to understand. His jaw clenched.

Standing a few paces away from Tor, Yuri clearly wasn't finished. "It takes a special kind of coward to stab good people in the back. Don't you think?"

Tor frowned. "If you're trying to bait me…"

"Just making an observation." Yuri shrugged a shoulder, too casually. "I don't care if you agree with me. It's obvious enough that you're a weak…"

"I—"

"…pathetic…"

"I didn't—"

"…sorry excuse for a knight."

"_I didn't have a choice._"

The words snapped like a whip in the damp air of the cellar. Flynn held his breath, eyes darting to the guards who now watched with great interest; Tor's throat bobbed as he swallowed.

"I didn't have a choice," he said, deliberately, quieter. "Because the Empire has moved too far away from the ideals it was founded upon, and a few noble individuals aren't ever going to be enough to change that."

Yuri was silent for a moment, as if absorbing this.

"Wrong answer," he finally said. "The second part of what you just said might be true, but I'd rather die than join forces with someone like Mira to fix it."

"I never said I'd joined forces with her."

"Right. Like that makes a difference." Yuri paced the room a little, facing away from Tor. Eventually, he walked over to Flynn and crouched beside him.

"You feeling okay?"

Flynn nodded. "Not any worse, at least."

"Good. Why didn't you tell me?"

He didn't have to specify what he hadn't been told, though ironically the true secret was the opposite. Flynn smiled tightly, head bowed.

"You know why."

Yuri huffed in frustration, hands resting on his knees. He unfolded and stalked back over to Tor until they were nearly nose to nose.

"You," he said, "aren't going to get away with this."

"Probably not," Tor said, quietly.

"So, I hear you all have orders not to kill me."

"That's right."

Yuri planted a hand on Tor's chest, shoving him until he staggered back. The guards unconsciously grasped at the hilts of their swords, exchanging a look of uncertainty. Tor found his balance again, straightened his clothes.

"Yuri…"

Dark eyes swung over at Flynn's voice. "What, do you think he deserves less than that? He's working with people that tried to kill _Estelle_. And he said he loved her. You liar."

Tor surged forward, pulling Yuri's arm up and pinning it against the stone wall of the cellar. "There are plenty of things," he said tightly, "that I'm allowed to do that wouldn't kill you."

Yuri was pushing him, both literally and metaphorically, and Tor had no choice but to push back. Not if he wanted to look remotely believable in front of the other members of Liberty's Fist. But there was a fire in his eyes, his breath heaving in a way that couldn't be faked.

"Hey," said Yuri, "do your worst."

Tor made a sound of disgust and released Yuri's arm. As he spun away and crossed back over to the door, he ran a hand over the top of his head, drawing fingers roughly through his hair. The guards followed him out to return to their posts; the door slammed shut, the board rasped, the lantern light was gone. Tor had not glanced back once as he had left—Flynn wondered why his chest was so tight with dread, when everything was going exactly according to plan.

* * *

A/N: Why indeed. I hope you all enjoy the fluff (_and_ the angst); I know I enjoyed writing it, despite suffering through the horrors of a very ironic summer cold. ;)


	30. Gamble

**30. Gamble**

The door at the top of the stairs slammed with enough force to set Mira's teacup rattling on its saucer. She shot a speculative look over at Cyrus, who lounged in a chair nearby with his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. He caught the dagger he had been flipping idly in the air and glanced over at the door.

Tor stood there with his palm splayed flat against it for a moment, as if catching his breath, then gave his head a quick shake and stalked across the room.

"How's our patient?" Mira asked coolly, once Tor neared. He paused beside her, though just out of arm's reach.

"No worse," he said shortly. "Do you have any further orders?"

Mira tilted her head a fraction, regarding him. There was tension bunched in his shoulders, tightening his jaw. Small wonder. Only the coldest of individuals betrayed their companions without feeling at least a little conflicted, and this man did not seem to fit the heartless profile. Assuming, of course, that his defection was genuine in the first place. There were ways of determining this, and Mira resolved to watch Tor Altiren _very_ carefully.

"I'd like," said Mira, "for you to inform me immediately if you see any of the knights that had accompanied you and Flynn in Desier. They should be arriving very soon, if our messengers are to be trusted. I will send someone with you, naturally."

Tor nodded, but his attention seemed to be elsewhere, his gaze drifting. Mira cleared her throat, and his eyes snapped to hers.

"Understood," he said firmly. To his credit, Tor neither cringed under her icy stare nor seemed overly haughty. Mira selected a man she felt was one of the more loyal and trustworthy to keep an eye on him, repeating the orders. They exited the room, leaving Cyrus and Mira in relative privacy. Many of the other Zaphias extremists, Marten included, were in another room of the residence for the evening meal.

Cyrus resumed his dagger-flipping, and Mira watched him for a moment before she spoke again.

"I believe they've prepared some type of pork stew in the kitchen," she said. Cyrus merely slid his eyes over to look at her. "Not hungry, hm?"

Silence.

"You should be happy, you know," Mira continued, taking a sip of tea. "The men responsible for your brother's death are safely locked away, completely at our mercy."

Cyrus snorted, short and quiet.

"I'd be happier if they were dead. What do we want with them, anyway? The Empire tossed Flynn out; Lowell is considered a nuisance at best. You should have let me kill him."

"That isn't for _me_ to determine," Mira reminded him, even as it galled her. "Besides, the people love Flynn Scifo still. The last thing we need is for the citizens to have something to rally behind, a reason to unite against us."

Cyrus scowled. He would know, of course, that she was right. Mira allowed her lips to curve into a smile, subtle and inviting.

"Let us celebrate small victories," she said, as she stretched a hand out and lay it gently on his knee, a friendly yet intimate gesture. The touch was withdrawn before it could linger, and Cyrus's brow creased for a moment. Though not, it seemed, in anger.

It was curious, thought Mira, how Cyrus's demeanor had changed. Though she had not paid much attention to the man in the past—he had been a good friend of the former Zaphias leader, but not of much consequence in the organization's leadership—she did not remember the man as sullen or unusually blood-thirsty. It made it almost disappointing how little resistance he put up to Mira's presumptive orders given to his own men. Perhaps he was not suited for such a high position; it often seemed, in fact, that he did not want it, though at the most inconvenient times a remarkably strong will revealed itself.

It was just as well, as this suited Mira's ambitions just fine. She was calculating how to wrest control from Cyrus completely—thus far, he had resisted her careful moves toward organizing more elaborate plans for the Zaphias cell—when the front door opened. A mousy-looking woman stepped through, clutching a package to her chest as she nervously approached at Mira's exasperated urgings.

"Oh, do stop flinching, I'm not going to bite," she said, sighing as the woman inched forward and deposited her paper-wrapped package on the edge of the table.

"It's the salve you asked for," the woman said haltingly.

"Yes, yes. As you were." Mira waved her off, sending her scurrying gratefully back out the door to whatever duties she had been assigned. The paper unfolded to reveal a small ceramic pot; Mira picked it up and removed the lid to briefly examine the contents, then replaced the lid once more.

"For Scifo?" Cyrus asked, a note of incredulity creeping into his voice. "I thought we were allowing him to suffer between interrogation sessions. He could be very close to breaking, once we're sure he's well enough to risk another try. Even if we can't kill Yuri, he would make good leverage…"

"You're right, of course," Mira conceded. "But this is not for his comfort. The sores have been allowed to become infected, which may very well be contributing to his feverish state."

She tapped her lips, glanced over at the closed door.

"I think I'll send this down with one of the guards. _I _am certainly not going to touch those festering things." Mira shuddered delicately. "In fact, let Yuri do it. They do seem terribly…close."

Cyrus's brows lifted. "You think they're lovers?"

Mira smiled, as if remembering a private joke. She fancied herself something of an expert when it came to discerning the truth of people, seeing connections and interactions for what they were; it allowed her to more effectively manipulate, to gain and keep the upper hand. Between Mira's spies in Dahngrest and her own observations, there had been much of interest as far as those two were concerned.

"No," she said. She took a sip of tea and winced; it was getting cold. "No, I think not."

At Cyrus's confused expression, Mira laughed. This was, she thought, an unexpected yet promising turn of subjects.

"They only see each other," she explained, shrugging a shoulder. "It is, I think, through sheer force of will that they are together now. It makes them stronger—which is why I was ordered to create division between them in Dahngrest."

Mira sighed, clicking her tongue.

"But no matter. We have them now, and together we make a force to be reckoned with." She stood, and Cyrus tilted his head to look up at her as she smiled. "They are not a threat. _We_ are stronger, yes?"

Mira brushed the back of her fingers along Cyrus's jaw line; he swallowed, and she could see warring emotions in his eyes.

"Yes," he said, a little hoarsely. Mira's smile grew.

* * *

Repede padded over to the open window of Yuri's room at the inn and whined sharply. The sun had set a few hours ago and while Judith and Repede had finished their day's search of the city, Yuri was late in returning.

"Yes, I'm worried too," Judith said softly.

The delay could be attributed to any number of reasons. It was well within Yuri's nature to stubbornly continue the search late into the night as their situation grew more desperate. Unexpected difficulties could have arisen while rescuing Flynn, forcing them to lie low for a time. More troubling, though, was the potential that Yuri had been captured or harmed. And this was not a possibility that Judith could ignore. She rose to her feet, and Repede cast a glance back at her over his shoulder.

"Let's go find him," she said, and the warrior dog barked in agreement.

Judith had a copy of the bars and taverns that Yuri had planned to search that day, so that was where they would begin. Fortunately, there were only the two. To make the best use of time, it was determined that they would make a quick circuit and look at both locations, and then examine the most suspicious one first. That, at least, was the plan.

They hadn't gotten far when a door opened just up ahead on their right, revealing a tall, relatively well-muscled man with reddish hair. Well, 'opened' was perhaps a poor description. It was flung open violently, nearly shutting on the shorter man that followed the other out into the street.

"Watch it," he hissed. "I'm the one that can report that kind of behavior, y'know. Have a little respect, or you're not gonna last a day with us."

The man mumbled a response and started to walk in a direction that headed away from Judith and Repede; his companion fell in behind him, muttering angrily to himself. Watching them, Judith arched a brow. Repede made a low, questioning bark-growl.

"How curious," she said. "Maybe nothing, but we might as well take a closer look, since we're here."

Strolling past the building, Judith flicked her eyes over and noted the heavy curtains blocking the windows. It was an attractive building of moderate size, a personal residence by the look of it…likely owned by a citizen of the upper middle class. Nothing notable about that, and it certainly wasn't something that fit what they were looking for, but something deeply instinctual made Judith stake out a corner where she could watch anyone that entered and exited the home.

They didn't have to wait for more than a few minutes. A woman approached, looking nervously in all directions. Judith shook her head; speaking of not lasting long. She was holding something that Judith couldn't make out and, as hoped for and expected, ducked into the building. The woman emerged not long after, noticeably shaken, and nearly ran right into Judith's arms. Her eyes widened and she tried to spin around and flee, but Repede blocked her path, low on his haunches as he growled in warning.

"Just a few questions," Judith said brightly. "We won't keep you long."

"Don't hurt me," the woman pleaded. "I…I didn't even want to work for them. Please. I have a family…"

"Work for _who_, exactly?"

Her mouth worked, but no sound came out. Judith nodded at Repede, who closed in more tightly, showing a little teeth.

"They'll kill me," she finally said, voice breaking into a sob. "Or _she_ will, anyway."

"She?" Judith coaxed. The woman shook her head, strands of straw-colored hair streaming from side to side.

"You don't want to get involved," she whispered. "I…please, let me go."

Crossing her arms, Judith considered the situation. This woman had already all but confirmed their suspicions regarding the building's inhabitants; even if Yuri wasn't there, Flynn might be. It was time to change the approach.

"How many people are inside, do you think?"

The woman blinked. "Ah…I don't know. Somewhere between ten and fifteen?" She seemed surprised to have spoken, paling a bit in the flickering light of the streetlamps.

Interesting. Now, there was some useful information. Judith smiled.

"You should choose your friends more wisely," she admonished, and the woman nodded stiffly. "Go now. You've been very helpful."

Their reluctant informant dashed off breathlessly, leaving Judith to turn her attention back to the dark and quiet building. It was possible, she mused, that the woman would warn of someone asking suspicious questions—but Judith was willing to wager that she would not return any sooner than she had to. And Judith was _very_ good at gambling.

It wouldn't do to simply force their way in and expect to have the advantage in a fight. Sometimes, unfortunately, that was the only option that presented itself, but it certainly wasn't ideal. It was better to draw the fight out to them; to confuse and distract. The more they could splinter the forces stacked against them, the better their chances of victory.

So Judith and Repede walked a few streets over, and set the print shop on fire.

Judith tilted her head toward the sky as messenger birds flew through the thick smoke rising from the building. The fire had been set in a location where most, if not all, of the people inside would have time to evacuate—death of extremists was not the goal, in this case. Especially since many working in the shop had no knowledge of the atrocities that their leaders endorsed. They still carried some guilt for allying themselves with an anti-Imperial organization, but this did not make them all co-conspirators and murderers. People emerged from the building with hands and arms covering their faces, coughing and milling around in the street. Judith and Repede withdrew.

On their way back to the residence, several burly men stormed past, heading in the opposite direction. Leading them was one that fit the description of Marten, who had been imprisoned following the failed assassination at the castle and most recently seen in Dahngrest with Cyrus, another Zaphias extremist. Judith allowed a moment of gratefulness for the fact that Marten had been called out to the new crisis; he looked strong.

If the woman's estimation of the building's numbers was accurate, the fire had roughly halved their potential enemies. Approaching their destination, Judith hoped fervently that it had also stirred up chaos there as well. They lingered outside the door, the street behind them empty.

"I don't care _how_ it happened, get that fire under control," came a sharp, feminine voice. "That location is far too valuable a resource; I won't let it be squandered due to your continued idiocy."

"Scaring them witless won't accomplish anything," a quieter voice said. A man, this time. "Let him go. I'll send more men."

"You'll—oh, very well. This would never happen in Dahngrest, you know."

"Well, we aren't _in_ Dahngrest. And I think it's about time you remember who's in charge of this city."

Judith ducked into a shadowy alcove as the door opened and another handful of extremists passed by.

"—a _fine_ time to decide you want to be a real leader," the woman—Mira—was saying. There was silence for a moment. "No, we should approach this calmly and rationally."

"…and here I thought I already was…"

"_Cyrus,_" Mira snapped, then her voice softened. "We make a formidable team, you know. My plans and your strong will to carry them out. It may not always seem so but…I've become fond of you."

Judith smirked down at Repede, who snorted softly. There was very little sound from within; the time felt right to make their move.

Cyrus was perched on a cushioned, high-backed chair on one side of the room, and Mira was hovering over him, caressing his face. He seemed frozen, as if unsure how to respond, and his eyes widened further as he spotted the intruders over Mira's shoulder. She followed his gaze and leapt away from the chair, hand flying immediately to the dagger at her waist.

Everything happened very quickly. Having already knocked out a guard just inside the door, Judith directed her spear at Mira's throat. For his part, Repede raced over to Cyrus as he was rising to his feet and reaching for his sword, pinning him to the ground before he could straighten. Judith knew that the canine would be pressing his weight into the man, digging his claws in. The dagger, in this case, was unnecessary, but there if Repede needed it.

"You could kill us," said Mira, eyes hard and narrowed. "If you wish Flynn to die as well."

Judith's arm didn't waver. "Go on."

"You'll find him in the cellar—but not in the best of health, I'm afraid." Mira ran a hand through her hair, as if she did not have the tip of a spear a breath away from piercing her skin. "Oh yes, Yuri is there too. He's quite the attentive nursemaid; it's all very heartwarming."

"I fail to see what prevents me from ending your life," Judith said, one brow raised.

"That's simple," said Mira. "I've been poisoning him."

A drop of blood beaded up on her skin as the spear pressed closer, Judith's fingers tightening around it.

"Ah," Mira continued, voice strained as she took shallow breaths. "Don't be hasty. It's easy to kill someone, after all. But first, ask yourself if you have the ability to revive the dead."

A few paces away from the women, Repede growled menacingly. Judith backed off just enough to allow for an explanation, ready to strike at any moment. She glanced over at Cyrus, still pinned down by Repede, and noted that he was staring at Mira as if she had two heads. Judith returned her attention to the woman.

"You're bluffing."

Mira chuckled. "Oh? How do you figure?"

The woman had a remarkable poker face. It was a quality that must have served her well in climbing so high within the organization. Every detail of her body language radiated an unshakable belief in the truth of her words.

"You have no reason to risk Flynn's death," Judith persisted, "and every reason to pull out a desperate move like this to save your skins. If you had been ordered to kill him, it would have been done quickly."

A smirk curled on Mira's lips. "There's no risk, really. The poison has been administered in very small doses over time, as insurance for just this sort of thing. Oh, stop gaping, Cyrus. It makes you look like a fish."

Judith pursed her lips, watched the woman's face carefully. The smallest twitch could betray her. There was nothing.

"Make no mistake, however. If Flynn doesn't receive the antidote, in time he _will_ die."

"I assume," Judith said tightly, "that _you_ are the only one that knows the location of this antidote. And will refuse to give it to me unless you are allowed to escape."

"Naturally."

Damn the woman. A spider in her web, confident that any who stepped into her domain would be trapped.

"Do you still think I'm bluffing, Kritya?" Mira asked, tone darkly mirthful. "Are you willing to bet Flynn's life on that instinct? Surely we will meet again; we do keep running into each other at the most interesting times. And yet, if Flynn dies…"

She sighed, as if she truly regretted the possibility. Judith knew that she should kill her; knew just as certainly that she could not. The choice was excruciating.

"Where is it?" she asked, forcing her voice into lightness. "Take me to it."

At spear point, Mira sidled her way through a door into the residence's kitchen. She opened a cabinet at Judith's urging, but withdrew her hand before sifting through its contents.

"It occurs to me," she said, "that if I hand you the antidote my life is still forfeit. Perhaps I won't reveal it to you, unless you put that barbarous weapon away first. And call off your mutt, of course."

Judith chewed on the inside of her lip in frustration, though she remained outwardly collected. "Repede," she called behind her, and the warrior dog sprang away with a parting snarl.

"Much better," said Mira, nodding. She turned at the sound of the front door opening and closing—doubtless Cyrus's escape—and when her focus returned to Judith, she was smiling.

"You will allow me to go to the door. At which time I will reveal the antidote's location. Yes, I know," she said, when Judith's eyes narrowed. "But you really have no choice in the matter."

Reluctantly, Judith followed Mira to the door.

"Quite the mess." Mira sighed. "My superiors won't be happy that those two have eluded us again. But no matter. I'm always two steps ahead." She crossed to the door and held it open.

"Do remember I wish to keep him alive as much as you do. It would be a disaster for us both." She slipped through the narrow gap, her voice carrying as she departed. "Third shelf, green bottle. Until we next meet, then."

With that, Mira was gone. Judith shook her head, returned her focus to matters that she could control. The cabinet was still open, and she reached up to sort through a variety of bottles to find that one that had been described. It was unmarked; Judith uncorked it and sniffed. Odorless.

All that remained, then, was to make their way down into the cellar. The door in the main room was unlocked, revealing a dimly lit staircase; Judith and Repede descended as quietly as possible, unsure what they would find.

One thing that Judith certainly hadn't expected was for the heavy cellar door at the foot of the stair to be swung open, without a guard in sight. As they stepped further inside, she dodged as something swung through the air next to her. Repede let out a low woof of surprise.

"…Repede? Judy! Sorry, I thought you were Mira."

There were a few moments of shuffling noises until a lantern cast enough light into the room to reveal Yuri, wearing a somewhat sheepish grin. A metal bowl dangled from his fingers—further examination revealed an extremist guard slumped just inside the door.

"Mira and Cyrus escaped," said Judith, and Yuri cursed under his breath. "Where is Flynn?"

"Over here." Carrying the lantern with him, Yuri led them to a far wall, where Flynn sat with his back up against the stone. He smiled weakly at Judith and lay a hand atop Repede's head as he approached.

"Well, it seems our rescuers are here at last."

"Hey," Yuri objected. "Who knocked out the guard?"

Flynn chuckled, which turned into a cough, a flash of pain crossing his face.

"How is he?" Judith asked, though it was clear he was quite ill.

Yuri shook his head, one hand planted on his hip. "Better, actually. Not out of the woods yet, but…it was pretty bad, Judy. Mira gave him some medicine a few hours ago, and that seems to be helping. He couldn't even sit up, before."

Judith pursed her lips, fingers tightening around the bottle in her hand, which Yuri didn't seem to have noticed.

"Are you certain that it was medicine?"

Yuri glanced over at her, confusion creasing his brow.

"Mira told me that she had been gradually poisoning him. This is supposed to be the antidote, handed over in exchange for their freedom."

Flynn's ashen complexion paled further, but after examining the bottle for a moment, Yuri shook his head.

"That doesn't make sense. When she saw that Flynn was sick, Mira…I've never seen her act like that before. She was _mad_."

"You don't think she could have been acting?"

Yuri sighed, eyes rolling toward the ceiling. "I don't think so. But still, I'd probably have made the same call. I don't know. I mean, what if she _is_ telling the truth? Who can understand that woman's plans."

Judith shrugged. "Mira's superiors want Flynn alive. There would likely be no harm in allowing Flynn to drink this just in case."

Having been a passive listener up to this point in the conversation, Flynn cleared his throat. Three pairs of eyes—well, two and a half—turned to look at him.

"If I were Mira," he said, quiet and measured, "that _would_ be the poison. What better way to ensure control over the situation, than to be able to make a bargain for the true antidote in exchange for handing me over to Liberty's Fist again?"

There was silence in the room for a moment, other than a dry cough from Flynn from speaking at length.

"Damn," Yuri finally said.

"There isn't enough gald in the Empire that could convince me to drink that bottle." Flynn gestured at it shakily. "I will take my chances."

In all honesty, Judith couldn't blame the man. She nodded, tucking the bottle into a satchel at her waist.

"Hey, Judy. Do you have any bandages in there?" Yuri asked before she could close it. "Flynn's wrists are pretty messed up from the ropes they tied him with on the ship. I put some salve on them for infection, but it's going to be hard to get him up the stairs if his wrists keep banging into stuff."

Years of experience traveling with Ba'ul had instilled in Judith the importance of being prepared for any situation. She dug around in the bag until she found a slim roll of bandages, unwinding it and helping Yuri to carefully wrap them around Flynn's wrists.

Flynn hissed a few times in pain, and Yuri placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. There was…an affection to it that Judith didn't think Yuri would have allowed himself in the past. She ducked her head to hide a smile.

That done, they each placed a hand under one of Flynn's arms to haul him to his feet. The other extremists would doubtless return eventually, but Judith thought that there was enough time yet for an escape without further incident. They helped Flynn limp to the door and stopped at the bottom of the darkened staircase. Yuri turned his head, a smirk on his lips.

"You ready?"

Flynn nodded.

"Alright, let's do this."

* * *

A/N: Hmm, Judith's point of view. We haven't seen that since chapter…ten? Wow.

As a side note, **ana paula92** drew some fanart based on scenes from this story! (And one for my other multichapter ToV story, Back Where We Started.) They are all excellent, and I'm really happy and flattered that someone would be inspired to draw something based on the fic. :) If anyone wants to check them out, I've linked the art in my profile.


	31. Turnabout

**31. Turnabout**

Flynn woke slowly to the realization that he was emerging from the illness that had ravaged his body and clouded his thoughts for the past several days. Bright sunlight poured into the room, but from an angle he didn't expect—it filtered through sheer curtains covering a window beside the bed, rather than creeping toward the pillow from behind his head. He was not in the room at the Comet; he wasn't really sure _where_ he was. But somehow, as he felt the easy way that his chest and lungs expanded, that didn't seem to matter. Flynn allowed his eyes to drift shut again, until he heard movement outside the door. He pushed the layers of blankets from his shoulders and put weight on his palms tentatively at first, more firmly when no twinge of pain in his wrists warned him off from raising up into a sitting position.

There was a quick rap on the door before it began to creak open, but Flynn was too busy running his fingers over the soft, smooth flesh of his wrists. No scarring, no sign that the infected blisters had ever been there except for the fact that if one looked closely, that part of his skin looked _newer_, as if they had been recently scrubbed clean. Flynn knew that there was only one way that his injuries could have been so quickly and thoroughly mended—it filled him with a mix of hope and dread that sat like a weight in his stomach. A stomach that he realized, in that moment, was ravenously hungry. When _had_ he last eaten a proper meal? At the thought, his stomach complained in a rather embarrassing manner—Flynn snapped his head up at the low snort of laughter that came from the now open door.

"Guess I'm here just in time," said Yuri, lifting the tray in his arms a fraction before setting it at the end of the bed. It dipped with a squeak as he dropped down cross-legged in front of Flynn, lips curving into a smirk. "Morning, sunshine."

Flynn stared. At Yuri; at the food, which steamed invitingly. Finally, he snapped himself out of the daze.

"Is Lady Estellise here?" he heard himself asking, even though that hadn't been what he wanted to say at all. Yuri arched a brow.

"She went to the castle with Judy and Rita about an hour ago. Wanted Ioder to know everything that had happened, I guess. But Estelle was here, yeah. She did a pretty good job, huh?"

Flynn nodded, rubbing unconsciously at his wrists again.

"Yes," he agreed. "Ah, Yuri…"

"Hm?"

"…Thanks."

The expression of gratitude was quiet, but sincere. Flynn had been in a fog for much of his time in the extremist cellar, but Yuri's presence had been a bright spot in an otherwise miserable experience. He had been…surprisingly warm, and not merely in the literal sense. Flynn couldn't explain what had been different, but also knew he could not hope that anything had changed. Besides—he was now the one with secrets to keep. He was the one who had left.

Yuri shrugged a shoulder, but a small smile quirked on his lips. In lieu of a verbal response, he pushed the tray closer to Flynn's blanket-covered knees.

"Eat something," he said.

Matching Yuri's smile in kind, Flynn reached for a piece of toast slathered in butter and marmalade, crunching into it gratefully. Yuri watched him as he made his way through a dish of eggs, a bowl of yogurt and another piece of toast before finally settling back against the pillows with a contented sigh.

"There's more where that came from if you want it," said Yuri.

"Mm." Flynn shook his head. "Maybe later. Thank you."

A quiet knock at the door drew both of their attentions. But any hesitance ended there—Estellise gasped and practically flew across the room to Flynn's side, a blur of pink and white filling his vision as she threw her arms around his neck.

"You had me so worried," she said breathlessly.

"Estelle showed up at the Comet not long after we got back," Yuri explained. "We decided it would be safer to move before trying to heal you, but you were already pretty out of it."

"I've never seen you so pale, Flynn." Estellise laid a hand along his cheek, her eyes full of concern. "But I see you've eaten now. That's good. I'm so happy that Yuri was there to take care of you."

Flynn smiled softly—it was just like her to make the best out of any situation. He met Yuri's eye over her head, and it must have been during his attempts to decipher the look on his friend's face that he was distracted from what Estellise said next.

"Um. Flynn?"

Yuri was still looking at him, but his expression had hardened and shut off. He stood abruptly and walked out of the room without looking back, leaving Flynn more than a little baffled, but he shifted his attention back to Estellise. The sudden, quiet gravity that had crept into her voice dug a hollow in the pit of Flynn's stomach that had nothing to do with hunger.

"I'm sorry." Flynn shook his head. Blue-green eyes reflected questions at him that he wasn't sure how to answer. "What did you say, Estellise?"

She bit her lip, picking at the fabric of her skirts.

"I…was just wondering if what Yuri told me about Tor was true." Estellise raised her hands, waving them through the air. "Not that I think Yuri would lie to me, of course. It just…it seems so hard to believe."

The words sent a pang through Flynn's chest—he had already decided what he would have to do, for the sake of everyone, for the sake of the Empire. That didn't make it any easier. It all wanted to spill from his lips, to calm a close friend's fears about the man that she loved. If Flynn had been in her place, _he_ would have wanted to know. And being in the position he was at this moment, Flynn also realized with just as much certainty that he could not.

He hated himself for hurting her, even if it may have been for noble reasons; he would do what little that he could.

"We'll bring him back, Estellise. Please trust me."

Flynn could see her face start to crumble, and a part of himself went along with it. She fisted her hands in his shirt, leaned against him, hiccuping with tears. His hand fluttered uselessly for a moment near her shoulder—Flynn rubbed a few gentle circles on her back, stared a hole in the wall, wondering for the thousandth time if he had made a mistake. Hoping fervently that Tor was doing alright, so that he could finish his mission and come home. Quickly.

After a few minutes, Estellise took a long, deep breath, pulling back from Flynn's chest to look up at him. She brushed at a damp spot on his shirt, lips curving in an imitation of a smile.

"Sorry," she said in a small voice, artificially cheerful. "Yes. I'm sure everything will be okay. I don't understand, but…I can't believe that Tor would do anything bad. I have a feeling. Everything is going to work out in the end, Flynn."

Estellise smiled brightly, rising to her feet and clasping her hands before her, and Flynn almost wondered who was reassuring who. He couldn't help but worry about her. It was largely out of his hands, now.

"I'm going to get you some more tea," she announced, picking up the pot from the tray with both hands and turning to briskly walk toward the door before Flynn could object. He sighed and shook his head, but didn't have much time alone with his thoughts after Estellise departed. Almost as soon as the last of her skirts had disappeared through the door, Yuri sidled past her and stood before him, arms crossed. The stony expression from earlier had disappeared from his face, instead settled into a familiar nonchalance.

"Sorry, I thought she deserved to know," he said, though there was little apology in his tone. "So, we're going to bring him back, huh?"

"You were listening?" As soon as the words were spoken, Flynn realized how foolish they were. This was Yuri. Of course he had been, probably with his back leaned up against the wall just outside the door the whole time. Flynn could picture it easily.

"Right. Forget I asked."

Yuri snorted, unfolding his arms and stepping over to sit on the bed again.

"Didn't think that guy had it in him, though." He picked up a piece of fruit from the tray, tossing it idly up into the air. It made a light smacking sound as it hit his palm again, fingers curling around it. Yuri looked up at Flynn, his gaze startlingly piercing, half-lidded. "Did you?"

For half a second, Flynn stopped breathing. He fought the urge to swallow.

"No. Of course not. He…seemed like a model knight." Flynn did his best to sound helpless, at a loss. He did not have to pretend to be saddened. For Estellise, he truly was. For the necessity of his subterfuge.

"Hmm."

Yuri was much closer, now; when had he gotten closer? He was leaning his weight on one palm, which rested not far from Flynn's knee. This close, Flynn could make out the subtle shades of dark gray and silver in his irises, other flecks of color that were difficult to pin down. Much like the man they belonged to. They darted back and forth just slightly as if searching for something within his own gaze, never wavering.

"Flynn," he said suddenly, and the way the name was spoken, clear and quiet, sent a shiver down the blond man's spine. "Why are you lying to me?"

Flynn's eyes widened, breath sticking in his chest more stubbornly than before. He opened his mouth, but nothing would come out. The only choice, of course, would be more lies. It was no choice at all. Yuri knew him better than anyone alive; before him, he was transparent. Somewhere in all their disagreements and tension, Flynn had forgotten that.

A sardonic smile curved on Yuri's lips, not touching his eyes.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he said, and levered himself up and away from Flynn, rising to his feet. He started walking toward the door, casual as anything, piece of fruit still clutched in his left hand.

"Yuri."

He stopped, half-turned to look at Flynn with dubious expectancy. And in truth, Flynn had not known what he would say; he only knew that he didn't want Yuri to walk out like that. Flynn took a breath.

"Please trust me," he said—entreating, but with an edge of determination.

It was, Flynn realized, the same thing that he had said to Estellise. In this situation, however, it carried a very different weight. Yuri tilted his head to one side, free hand propped on his hip.

"Huh. That's a two-way street, Flynn. Let me know when you're willing to walk it."

He tossed the fruit up into the air in an arc toward Flynn, who caught it in both hands; by the time he had done so, Yuri was already headed out the door. It was just as well. There had really been nothing else left to say.

* * *

The Public Quarter's business district was having a typically busy day, though traffic tended to skirt wide of the blackened stone of what _had_ been the print shop, which gave off an acrid stench that Mira could detect from where she stood, several buildings away. It irked her to devote so much manpower to salvaging what they could from the wreckage. Whoever had set the fire did so expertly, minimizing casualties but making the flames themselves difficult to contain. Naturally, Mira had some idea now about just who was responsible, and it only served to stoke her determination to eliminate that nuisance. For now, however, more immediate duties awaited.

A few steps behind, Tor Altiren followed her, eyes wary and scanning the crowd, expression otherwise flat. Even when Mira stopped to examine something or turn onto a new street, he never closed the gap between them. Tor clearly did not trust her yet. Good, she thought. The last thing Liberty's Fist needed were more people who did not know how to think for themselves. Though in truth, the man seemed…malleable. Not yet jaded and cynical like Cyrus, whose response to her attempts at seduction was far too slow for her liking. He seemed entirely uninterested, in fact, on most occasions. As if he did not care about such things, perhaps cared about nothing at all.

Mira was musing on this topic—and wondering whether Flynn and the others were scrambling still, regarding the "antidote"; the contents of the bottle, while not poison, would make him quite sick, but as no one had approached her it was likely they had opted not to administer it—when she noticed that Tor had disappeared entirely. She arched a brow and glanced about dispassionately for some sign of the man; it did not take long to locate where he stood behind a pillar, hidden from view. Mira walked over to join him. He did not look at her. Following his gaze led to a column of knights, uniforms bright and eye-catching as they weaved their way through the crowds. Mira smirked as she watched their progress.

"Not yet proud to stand among us, I see."

Tor stiffened, visibly forced himself to relax. Fingers uncurled from a fist at his side.

"It would be far more surprising if you did not care what your former fellows thought, you know. You should not be so ready to assume that we would expect that of you." As the last pair of knights in the column passed the pillars, Mira looped her arm firmly around Tor's, leading him away. He began to speak, but she forestalled him.

"Ah, don't object. I am quite aware of what is told about us. Every story has two sides, Tor. Surely you must know that." She shook her head, sighing. "Do you honestly believe that you are always given the truth in its entirety? I seem to recall a certain Commandant with many loyal followers, not so long ago. Did he _tell_ you about the apatheia; about his plans for Zaude?"

Tor said nothing. Of course he said nothing. Mira smiled.

"I would like to show you something," she said. They walked for several blocks, Mira never relinquishing her hold on Tor's arm. The muscles were clenched tightly for a while, but as it became clear that they would be traveling some distance, Tor eventually relaxed them. Still wary, of course, but wary was good.

"You have explained to me," she said, as the approached their destination, "why you decided to join us. Compelling reasons, really. I approve. Now allow me to show you the reasons that this is unquestionably the _right_ decision."

A narrow, winding street led them away from the crowds, inclining steeply until it flattened out into a square lined with dilapidated buildings. In the shade of one of them, an old man leaned against a wall, bandaged legs stretched out in front of him. A younger man on crutches was making his way inside, while a shrieking pair of children dodged around his legs and out into the dusty street.

Tor looked over at Mira with a questioning expression, but stayed silent as they approached the building. The old man tilted his head up, squinting at them, but seemed fairly uninterested in their presence. He resumed muttering to himself, a behavior that Mira had observed in her previous visits to this establishment. Oddly enough, what little she could hear tended to sound fairly lucid.

Inside, a dark-haired man seated at a desk looked up from some paperwork he was filling out. His brows raised slightly on sighting Mira, but he quickly plastered a mild smile on his face.

"Welcome. How can I be of service today?"

He was a decent actor, Mira would give him that. Though in the employ of Liberty's Fist, it was clear enough by looking into the man's eyes, where he could not lie, that he despised her. She smiled back with just as much artificial sweetness.

"Do you mind if I give our friend here the grand tour?"

Mira lay a hand lightly on Tor's arm as she spoke, looking over at him to gauge his reaction. He did not so much as flinch. The man at the desk, on the other hand, let his smile slip just enough to be obvious for those who looked for it.

"Certainly. It would be my pleasure to accompany you."

Mira hummed thoughtfully. "The offer is appreciated, but not necessary, I think. I wouldn't _dream_ of taking you away from your duties here."

"I insist," the man said tightly, still smiling. The tension in the air between them hummed; Mira inclined her head a fraction.

"Very well, then. Lead the way."

There were reasons that Mira rarely ventured into places such as this; not out of fear, of course, but rather distaste. There was an atmosphere that got beneath her skin, a pervasive feeling as if the building itself, along with its inhabitants, was projecting a message of _this does not belong to you._ She could, if she wished, sweep in and take direct control, and not a word would be spoken against it. But this place was somehow unlike headquarters or the meeting places fronted by Fist-run businesses, where her influence was unmistakable. Mira was hardly _shaken_ by this, by any means; it was simply somewhere she preferred not to be if she could avoid it. It was only her plans for Tor Altiren that brought them here on this particular day.

The man walked ahead of them down a plain corridor that was broken every few paces by doors that led into other rooms, many of them closed. As they passed, Mira could catch fleeting glimpses of cots, both occupied and empty; in one room, a group of older men were gathered around a small table, playing cards. They were so deep in concentration that only one even looked up, one irritated eyebrow raised, when the man from the front desk started speaking.

"This is the recreation room; we do our best to keep everyone's spirits up." He stood in the doorway with his arms crossed, glancing over and directing his words at Tor. "How much were you told about this place in advance? I don't want to waste your time with information that you already know."

"Nothing." Tor swallowed, shrugged a shoulder. "I wasn't told anything except that this was something that I needed to see. I guess it was supposed to speak for itself."

The man considered him silently.

"That's true. It does," he finally said, grave and quiet. He turned to exit the room, sweeping past Mira as if she weren't even there, neither jostling her nor taking care to avoid her. They kept walking and turned a corner, where double doors opened onto a large room that ran the length of the building. Most of the tables scattered at regular intervals were occupied, a peal of laughter occasionally rising above the room's constant hum of conversation. At the far end, a line of people shuffled up to a counter, where steaming liquid was ladled from large pots into the wooden bowls they carried with them. Those who reached the end of the counter walked to find a place at one of the tables, one hand balancing their bowl and the other clutching a chunk of bread. Most were immediately waved over by someone they knew, joining the din of conversation. Others looked more uncertain, tried to find a place to sit by themselves.

Mira watched Tor's face out of the corner of her eye; she could see comprehension begin to dawn as he looked out over the scene.

"Do all these people live here?" he asked, voice low.

"Some, but not all," said the man. "A lot of these are only in need of a free meal. And we can't house everyone, unfortunately. Not at once. We try to rotate so that it's fair."

Tor nodded, but the look on his face was a delightful mixture of bafflement and surprise. And…was that a touch of awe in his voice? Knowing that the men were not looking in her direction at the moment, Mira allowed herself a self-satisfied smirk.

"I've never noticed this many people on the streets in the Public Quarter," said Tor. "Do they come from the Lower Quarter as well?"

The man shook his head minutely. "They come from all over. These are the people that the Empire forgot. The ones that fought their battles, that paid for the nobility's finery and the Council's bloated salaries, and have nothing to show for it but untended wounds and empty stomachs. The ones who need someone to protect them, because no one else will."

Tor stiffened, the corners of his mouth turning down slightly. "But the Knights—"

"The Knights are a joke," he interrupted sharply. "As likely to be found drunk in the middle of the day, mocking the citizens they're meant to be protecting, as actually doing their jobs. Their influence is negligible and laughable."

"But," Tor started, frowning, "hasn't it been better with the new commandant?

"The one that the Council threw out just like anyone else who threatens their stranglehold on the Empire? We're supposed to have a new emperor by now, but I didn't see the man doing anything to thwart the laws that they've been breaking. He's as powerless as anyone else."

Tor's brow furrowed, and his head swung around to look at Mira, who schooled her features into stillness. The source of his confusion was apparent, written in his eyes: _he doesn't know._ The man was a member of Liberty's Fist, but it was clear that he wasn't privy to all of their plans, by the way he talked about Flynn's dismissal. The assassination attempt, obviously, was not common knowledge to the entire resistance group. Not everyone would approve of or understand such methods, necessary to achieve their goals.

"But it takes time, doesn't it? To change things?"

Mira chuckled inwardly, wondering if the man would wonder which side Tor was arguing for. His background as a knight colored all of his thoughts, that much was apparent.

"Sometimes," the man said quietly, eyes sweeping out over the dining hall, "you have to take matters into your own hands, do the job that no one else is willing to do. Isn't that why you're here? When our leaders fail us, we break away from them, reshape the world into what it should be."

At one of the tables, a woman noticed them watching, nodded and raised her spoon in a gesture of respect. The man nodded in response, turned to Tor.

"And in that sense, you're right. It does take time. But you can't wait around, relying on others to make the change happen. If the system is broken, it can only stall and stagnate. It has to begin with us."

To that, Tor had no response. The conversations swirled around them, the soup line shuffled forward by inches. Mira smiled, though part of her wanted to scream.

* * *

Estelle placed the tea kettle over the fire with shaking hands; she released its handle and braced against the counter, head bowed. Hair fell down into her face, and she nervously hooked it behind her ear, took a shaky breath.

"Estelle? Hey, are you…"

She could hear Rita's footsteps approaching behind her, a bit hesitantly. Estelle straightened and turned around.

"I'm fine," she said cheerily. But she kept her hands tucked behind her back, fingers tightly clutching each other.

"Right," Rita said sardonically, expression flat though not unkind. She crossed her arms. "Don't forget who you're talking to, here."

That was right. She wasn't going to lie to Rita anymore. Especially not when Tor was involved. Estelle let the false cheer slide from her face, brows knitting together. Behind her, the water in the kettle began to bubble and hiss as it approached a boil.

"We're going for a walk," Rita announced. Her tone brooked no argument. It hadn't been long since they had returned from the castle, but Estelle had to admit that she still felt a bit restless—in her helplessness regarding Tor; in all her raw, ragged emotion, the not knowing. She nodded, and Rita began to turn toward the inn's front door.

"Th-the tea," said Estelle, glancing back. It hadn't begun its high-pitched whistle yet.

"So take it off. You were just making it to keep yourself occupied, anyway."

Rita smiled a little as Estelle's eyes widened. The younger woman was right; Flynn hadn't indicated he wanted more tea, it was only to give her hands something to do other than wring in her lap.

"I've lived in the same house with you for how many months now?" Rita shrugged a shoulder. "You pick up on things after a while. You're really not that mysterious, Estelle."

Removing the kettle from the heat, Estelle made an indignant sound. "I…I can be mysterious!"

"Like an open book."

"Rita!"

The good-natured teasing was a welcome distraction; Estelle couldn't believe that she had allowed anything to threaten their friendship. Rita was so amazing, and even now Estelle felt lucky to have met her. They walked out into the bright spring day together, Estelle looping her arm in Rita's and smiling at the way she rolled her eyes but was belied by the way her cheeks tinged pink.

"Where should we go?"

"I don't know, I thought we'd just…walk around, see what was interesting out there to see, you know." Rita shrugged and pointed down the street, gently extracting her arm from Estelle's in the process. "I think I saw a book sale somewhere along here when we were going up to the castle."

The thought made Estelle clap with delight. "Then let's go! That sounds wonderful."

They picked up their pace, walking down the brick-paved streets. Rita had to practically drag Estelle away from things that distracted her—street performers, a display of handmade glass jewelry, someone trying to sell her flowers. She couldn't help it if, after only a year or so of getting to experience life outside the castle, these things still had an element of novelty for her.

"Come on, Estelle. You don't want someone _else_ to grab up all the good stuff before we get there, do you?"

"Hmm?" She glanced up from the artwork she'd been examining—it was a breathtaking rendering of Zaphias and the surrounding land, perfectly capturing the city's might and grandeur—and it took a few seconds for Rita's words to sink in.

"Oh! Yes. I'm so sorry. This is beautiful," she said to the woman who was manning the booth, who smiled politely with a quick 'thank you.' Estelle turned away and walked quickly to match Rita's hurried stride.

"You never change," said Rita, shaking her head. She slowed down slightly, allowing Estelle to catch up.

"Hm? That's…good, right?"

Rita looked back, and apparently saw something in Estelle's expression that made her chuckle.

"Yeah, I guess it's…Hold on. Something's not right here." Her eyes narrowed and she stopped walking abruptly; Estelle came up beside her, casting her gaze about the surrounding area for what Rita could have detected.

The street they walked wasn't busy, lined with a few stalls but with far less traffic than the markets. It was easy, then, to see the men who stepped out of the alleys around them. Anyone else nearby had already skittered away, reacting to the menacing presence of the newcomers. A large, muscular man stepped directly in front of them, the others fanning around them in a circle, half a dozen in total.

"Well, if it isn't our princess," the man said, sneering. "Without her little entourage of bodyguards. Wish I could take credit for planning this."

Estelle opened her mouth to object—she wasn't _alone_; she had Rita—but her friend shook her head.

"Stay back, Estelle." She could see Rita mouthing words, calling upon the power of the mana spirits. But there wasn't enough time; it was too obvious. Before Estelle could react, a blow sent her friend skidding across the ground on her back, letting out an exclamation of pain.

"Rita!"

Estelle itched to rush to her side, to assess her injuries and cast a healing arte. She could only be comforted by the fact that Rita was stirring weakly, arms quivering as she tried to rise again.

But the act had bought the men the time they needed. A strong grip tightened around Estelle's waist; she was thrown over the large man's shoulders like a sack, squeaking in protest and trying to scream. An odd-smelling rag was forced between her teeth, serving first as a gag, but panic built within her as the world slowly faded to black.

* * *

A/N: (…Yes, the chapter title was the most fitting I could think of, but I'm also a huge Ace Attorney/Phoenix Wright fan. ;) So I was kind of flailing when it made the most sense of any word I could come up with.)

Wow, I am _so_ sorry you guys for the way-longer-than-normal break between chapters. There's so much going on in my life lately, and some people might be like "D: Why are you even worrying about updating fic right now?" but…I've really hated not writing. It makes me happy, and it's been so hard to lack the mood/motivation to do the stories and characters justice. I worked on them some while I was on vacation, but most of this chapter was written pretty recently, when my head stopped spinning a little bit and I could focus. I'd love to say that the next chapter will come out much quicker, but I simply don't know. I'm doing my best.

On that note, you all have been amazing in the meantime. :) I've received some reviews and responses that have just bowled me over (in a good way) and I so appreciate your patience and understanding in this time. I really hope you enjoy this new chapter!


	32. Breakdown

**32. Breakdown**

A swirl of black cloth disappeared around the corner as Cyrus watched, jaw tight. He knew that if he were to follow directly after, the Nameless One would already be gone. Finding one of the shadowy individuals in his room had been an unwelcome surprise, to say the least; it was impossible not to wonder, distantly, if this one had been the same as Jules's executioner from Torim Harbor. If their leader's sense of humor might be that twisted.

In a way, though, this latest encounter provided an odd sort of relief. Following the failed assassination attempts at the castle, Cyrus had been conducting the affairs of Liberty's Fist without much guidance from his superiors. This lack of direction was nothing new—there had been many stretches of time in the past where the organization did not have any major strikes against the Empire pending. But in the wake of his brother's death, routine became Cyrus's worst enemy. He needed distraction. Perhaps this would be enough.

"Oh, you too? And I was beginning to think these visits were a unique privilege."

Cyrus turned at Mira's voice; she stood in the doorway, one pale arm stretched along it, pose casual and inviting.

"I suppose," she said, "that it would be safe to assume you've received the same message? With different instructions, perhaps."

Mira shrugged lightly and stepped further into the room, uninvited. Cyrus watched her every movement, not bothering to conceal his wariness—the day this woman ceased to play some sort of game was the day that she breathed her last.

"It's exciting," she continued, "don't you think? To be handed such an opportunity is almost too serendipitous for belief."

Cyrus said nothing as Mira drew closer, eyes locked with his. He did not bother saying that they had failed to exploit similar opportunities in recent days—the unmitigated disaster of the gala at Dahngrest; allowing Flynn Scifo and Yuri Lowell to escape the cellar. To be handed such an opportunity, Cyrus mentally corrected, was far more than they deserved. It was why, when the Nameless One had spoken his name in the darkness, he had expected a swift death, not more orders. He chose to ignore why his own failings had been pardoned; thinking on it would only drive him to madness.

"Why him?" Cyrus asked abruptly, and Mira paused a mere step away. "Why is he so important?"

"Oh, so the faceless spectre wasn't forthright with such answers? Shocking." A smirk curved on Mira's lips. "Think, Cyrus."

Cyrus frowned at the command's implications. The woman was forever acting as if she were somehow above him; seemed to believe that her influence should extend beyond the bounds of Dahngrest. Her own territory may have consisted of a population as a whole more receptive to anti-imperial leanings, but the Zaphias cell was ideally poised to strike at its heart. Perhaps he was, in comparison, inexperienced with leadership, but it was his, despite the blood spilt when it was given.

"It does not matter if he is truly ours or not," said Mira. "Tor will play a part which no one else can. After which…"

Another shrug. She had closed in, now, fingers playing lightly across Cyrus's chest. More games, his mind said, though his body was a traitor and cried neglect. He must have twitched, because Mira's smile grew, wicked and cat-like. A beautiful, dangerous woman. She was relentless, and this was a distraction he did not need. Only one solution presented itself to him.

Catching Mira's hands at the wrists, Cyrus pulled them away from himself. Green eyes flashed down into his, the confident expression wavering for an instant. It was replaced by bemusement, so Cyrus stepped toward her, pressing Mira toward the far end of the room until her back collided gently with a wall. She moved as if to touch him and he made a quiet, scolding sound—planted his other hand on the wall beside her and trailed kisses along the pale curve of her neck, then pulled back to capture those full, red lips with his own.

This was, Cyrus reminded himself as hands roamed and breath gasped, to make a point. He would stand his ground, prove he could not be subdued so easily. This was—

_Bare skin in moonlight, feather-light touches, eyes flutter shut under long eyelashes, oh _stars_ it's been too long…_

"He _will_ be ours," Mira whispered into his ear, breath tickling, and Cyrus fell asleep wondering who she meant.

* * *

Even after his promotion into the Lion Blades, Tor had thought that his knight quarters to be pretty spare. Being the third son of a fairly minor noble family, he wasn't as finicky about it as some of his fellows—they had all volunteered to serve the Empire, whether for honor or personal glory, and luxurious accommodations were hardly the point. But even so, he could not help but be struck by the austere and cramped room that he had been assigned since he had offered himself up to the extremists. He could stretch his arms out to either side and the tips of his fingers nearly brushed the flaking plaster of the walls. A high window let in anemic light, a spider web pattern of cracks in the glass casting a hazy rectangle of light across the floor and the plain sheets of his bed.

It was moonlight falling across his lap as he perched at the edge of his mattress, composing yet another letter in his head that he could neither send nor even write down on paper. Musings about his progress, or lack thereof—though he did feel that he was making headway with Liberty's Fist's trust of him, occasionally catching bits of conversation that seemed inappropriate to have in the presence of a man who might report the information back to his former employers and friends. Often it would be cut off abruptly with a tight-lipped look in his direction, but other times he remained unobserved and unworried about, especially with the members of lower standing. Of course, those were often the ones with the least vital information to convey. But he was confident that before long, even the more prominent leaders would accept him as their own.

The rest of his messages to the others tended to veer into the intensely personal, often beginning as an official missive to Sir Flynn but quickly drifting into rambling apologies that had little to do with official missions and protocol. _Please tell Stella...Estelle...I'm so sorry, my love. I'll understand if you can't forgive me. Even if I thought it was necessary and best, even if no matter how hard I tried I could not think of a better way to accomplish this. I had to try. And if we regain the Empire and I lose you, a part of me will have died here_—_I can't tell you honestly, as a selfish man, if I would believe it all to be worth it in the end. But I can't give up, since I've already come this far._

If this letter had been written with pen and ink, this would be the point where Tor would cross out a block of lines in disgust, crumple the page and start over. And so he would do this mentally, start over, end up writing a dozen letters that ended up the same, until he eventually succumbed to exhaustion as the moon rose outside his window. Night followed night like this. During his days, Tor would tail a senior member of the organization, learn a bit more about their operations, make maps in his head of their hideouts and business fronts. And when he was alone, he would pore back over them, trying to piece together something that they could use. Something that could turn the tide as the extremists' influence and numbers grew.

And grow they did. Being on the inside of it, Tor was able to witness first hand the members pouring in from all classes and stations, from impoverished Lower Quarter citizens weary of the Empire's neglect—many of these—to nobles wanting an alternate route to power and influence than through the elitist ranks of the Council. There were fewer from this category than Tor would have expected; in fact, many of the individuals he encountered were quite intelligent and friendly. The establishment that Mira had brought him to had been his first taste of this, but had been far from his last.

Tor was interrupted from his reverie—and gladly so, since he had just about reached the mental letter-crumpling stage again—by a soft knock on his door. He rose to answer it, barefooted and wearing the simple, rough-spun extremist garb that he was still not quite used to. The man who stood just outside his quarters had a loosely-held fist raised as if caught just before making an attempt to knock again, and at the sight of Tor he smiled sheepishly and let his arm fall to his side.

"Hope I didn't wake ya," he said in a whisper. It was hardly late, but Tor smiled despite himself.

"Not at all, Reuben. Please. Come in."

The man, surprisingly enough, did not return the smile—surprising because since he had made his acquaintance, Tor had found Reuben to be cheerful and friendly to a fault. He was the sort of person who had sought out the Fist for legitimate grievances but seemed incorruptible by their more underhanded tactics. Perhaps because the man did not have an ambitious bone in his body. If the organization's origins had remained rooted in this sort of optimism, an honest pursuit of changes in the corrupt elements of the system...

Tor shook his head. That sort of thinking was dangerous. Many forms of governing seemed ideal from the outside, better than the existing system, but in practice never worked out so simply. An attempt at streamlining the Empire's leadership over three hundred years ago during Brimstone the Fourth's descent into madness had resulted in a dictatorship of the likes which Terca Lumireis had never seen—and, with any luck, would never see again. The brigades of the knights, the ability of the Commandant to intervene in emergencies without the express approval of the Emperor or Council...these were all set into place to prevent that sort of power-grab. And ultimately, the extremists wanted to tear those defenses down.

Reuben, meanwhile, was looking furtively to his left and right down the long hallway before stepping through the door that Tor held open. He still looked uncharacteristically serious. At nearly the same moment as the door clicking quietly shut behind him, he began to speak.

"Don't have much time t' explain. Might be that I'm even mistaken that you're the right person t' tell. Don't think so, though. 'Laina always did say I'm a good judge of folk. And maybe you're on their side now for real, but..."

A spear of cold shot through Tor's chest. This conversation, as unlikely as it was to be overheard—especially with Reuben's low whisper and the fact that the walls were far from paper-thin—still caused a feeling of paranoia to immediately build within him. He attempted to quell it and focus on the other man's words. This sounded important. At least, he hoped it was. Tor had, he had to finally admit to himself, been despairing in the back of his mind that this gambit had been all for nothing, that he would never learn anything in time to get a warning to the Empire before the Fist's next strike.

"They have _her_, Tor," Reuben was saying, eyes intense under half-lowered lids. Tor's first thought was Elaina, and to begin preparing in his mind the reasons that he could do nothing to help the man's love if she had fallen into some trouble. But there was something in Reuben's tone that made him reconsider this assumption, his pulse stuttering and leaping into his throat.

"The princess," he said, not a question, so quiet it was barely a breath leaving his lips. Confirmation flared in Reuben's expression before he could even nod curtly, and Tor felt the ground of his world crumble from beneath his feet. There were a million questions swirling within his mind, not least rhetorical ones such as how _he_ had not prevented this somehow from his position on the other side, but something told him that Reuben had more to say. He remained silent, though every part of him protested it. Inside, his mind chanted _how, how, how?_

"They've been keeping her guarded, but Elaina thinks she knows a way t' get past 'em," Reuben said in a rush of breath. "I, uh, guess I'm in trouble if ya aren't worried what they're gonna do with her, but I know you're no fan of Mira. She's callin' the shots, and I'm thinkin' that she might decide the Fist is better off without the princess standing in their way." He scratched the back of his neck nervously, looking as if ready to bolt at any moment.

"Where is she," said Tor, unable to help himself, and Reuben's tension melted as he practically bounced on the balls of his feet.

"You'll help, then. I _knew_ ya would." He rubbed his hands together. "Right, so we'll have to move quickly. I got over here by saying I had a message to deliver, which is true in a manner of speakin'. Supposed to meet 'Laina near the kitchens, something about the princess's meal schedule. Don't know much more than that, and we'll have to be quiet..."

Tor nodded. That was enough for him. If nothing else, he could improvise. He wasn't as quick on his feet with such things as Flynn could be, but he did not rise in the ranks without a measure of ability to adapt to any given situation. Without speaking another word, he followed Reuben back out into the hallway. Light spilled from beneath some of the doorways that flanked it and Tor was grateful for once that he was not wearing the boots and armor that would make his footsteps fall with heavy, metallic sound.

They turned left, then left again, until Tor's ever-improving knowledge of the headquarters' layout alerted him that they had nearly arrived at their destination. The kitchen and its attached dining area was about half the size of the one at the knights' dormitories, perhaps even smaller than that, but had a similarly odd feeling at night—the buzz of conversation absent from the darkened room, the chairs and benches lifted onto empty tables. He scanned the room for Elaina, not certain he could recognize her on sight despite the multiple times that he had heard Reuben poetically describe her features. The night when they had first kissed had been especially long-winded...ah. That would have to be her, watching them from the doorway just within the kitchen. She tilted her head in greeting as they approached.

"You came," she said, surprise in her tone, and Tor frowned. "You risk much, helping with this. Even if, as Reuben tells it, you don't approve of Lady Mira's more...unsavory methods. This will be challenging her directly, regardless of where your loyalties ultimately lie."

A slender dark brow rose at this last comment, and Tor had to remind himself that these people were not necessarily on the Empire's side. Perhaps they did not wish Estelle to be tortured or worse, but they still opposed the current system and supported Liberty's Fist to replace it. He would have to be very careful in how he proceeded.

"Lady Estellise does not deserve anything that Mira would have to offer her," Tor replied. "If she is to be held by the Fist, it should be as a political prisoner. She should be treated as a guest, even if under constant guard."

Just speaking the words was painful; the words sounded false and disgusting to his ears. A thousand apologies echoed in his mind, all unworthy, none that Stella should ever be expected to accept from him.

"How long has she been here?" Tor forced himself to ask.

Elaina shrugged a shoulder. "A week, maybe?"

A _week_. He swallowed the panic that threatened to rise, any reaction that would reveal his personal attachment to the princess. That she had been here for this long and he had carried on, unaware...

"So, what's the plan?" Reuben was asking, and Tor forced himself to focus on the task at hand. There was nothing he could do about the past.

"I've managed to convince one of the guards that I've been personally selected to serve the Lady Estellise's dinner," said Elaina, flashing a smile that managed to be both sweet and wickedly mischievous. "It's already prepared at the main house's kitchen and delivered here." She indicated with a sweep of her hand toward a plate that was covered with a white cloth.

"Ah, I knew there was a reason that ya got on as one of the staff at headquarters, other than your charm 'an beauty," said Reuben, drawing a quiet giggle out of the girl.

"Aren't they worried someone might poison her food?" Tor asked, unable to help himself. The arch look he received from Elaina, accompanied by another shrug, confirmed his worst suspicions.

Apparently not.

Shaking off his disturbance—the way his stomach suddenly felt tight and hollow, bile threatening to rise in his throat—Tor listened as Elaina walked them through the plan. It was deceptively simple, mainly involving Tor acting as an escort while Elaina distracted the guard. Tor was momentarily concerned that his presence could be viewed as highly suspicious, but this was overridden by the fact that he had no choice when it came to Estelle. Still, they agreed that he could wear a helmet to cover his hair, as the guards for such high-profile prisoners did typically wear armor when they were stationed at headquarters.

They all developed alibis in case the plan fell apart at any point. The rest relied on luck, but Tor did not allow himself time to begin to second-guess. If it came between his life and Stella's, his was forfeit in half a heartbeat. And if she had already been here as long as Elaina claimed, every second counted.

The prisoners were held in the main house, which was separated by the general quarters by a wide courtyard. Tor glanced briefly up at the stars as the trio crossed a strip of grass that ran down the length of the courtyard, Brave Vesperia winking in the north like a beacon. Then they entered though a set of ornate double doors, shutting out the muffled sounds of the city.

Tor was grateful for the fact that Elaina seemed to know where she was going; he would have been frantically searching throughout the building, drawing all sorts of attention to himself. She strode purposefully down the hall, hesitating only once or twice briefly as they reached a turn. There were, of course, others that were active this early in the evening, but no one seemed to take much notice of them. He guessed that it would not be common knowledge that Estellise was being held there, especially not with Mira in control of the situation. The thought was too maddening to think about for very long.

Eventually, after what seemed like forever had passed even though Tor knew logically it could only have been a few minutes, Elaina stopped at a door flanked by two guards and flashed them that smile. They lifted the cloth on the dish that she was holding, looked it over and nodded after a moment, waving her on. And then they were in a large room that Tor hadn't known existed. It didn't look very much like a cell or dungeon—more like a hall meant for gatherings or to entertain, but sparsely decorated at the moment. A few chairs were scattered here or there, gilded wood with velvet cushions, a couch with a similar style positioned under a large window with heavy curtains drawn back. And on this seat, the moonlight casting shadows that flickered in her hair, sat Estelle.

"Stella," Tor nearly said, instead mouthing the first syllable, mouth suddenly gone dry. All of the fears that he had for her, weighing on his mind despite his attempts to ignore them, disappeared completely. But then...this didn't make any sense. He turned to ask Elaina a question.

The door was swinging shut again, bouncing lightly against its frame. Elaina had vanished. Tor automatically reached for the sword resting at his hip, grateful as always to find it there, that the extremists' trust of him ran at least that far.

"Tor?" Estelle's voice was light and hesitant; there may have even been a tremble in it. He turned to face her, fingers still in contact with his sword hilt. "What's going on?"

Despite the complete lack of humor in this situation, Tor was almost inclined to laugh. He wished that he knew. No part of their plan had involved Elaina fleeing along with the food, which had been their excuse for even being present in this room. Perhaps he had overestimated her resolve.

"Are you alright?" asked Reuben, which Tor realized should have been his line, at least before everything had become so confusing. Estelle nodded, though her eyes still held questions. "Good. We need to...huh? Where did 'Laina go?"

Reuben's brow creased as he looked around the room. Though Tor had a sinking feeling that she had disappeared entirely, he held onto the idea that perhaps she had forgotten something and only stepped out to get it. When he suggested this to Reuben, the man was quick to accept this possibility.

"'Course she did. Here, why don't ya check to see if she's back with those guards and I'll figure out a way to get this princess of ours out of here."

Estelle gasped, one hand covering her mouth, and looked at Tor with so much hope and love that it made him sick at heart. It was mainly for this reason that he followed Reuben's suggestion; he needed to pull himself together if they were going to succeed. He went out again, nodded to the guards who watched him boredly as he glanced up and down the hall, hand on his hip. No sign of the woman. Tor grimaced as he made his way back into the room, feeling it was more and more unlikely that she would return. Time for that improvisation, then.

"Tor. How good of you to join us."

No.

"It seems that this one thought he might try his hand at rescuing a princess. Silly man. Everyone knows that the age for heroes is long past."

Mira circled around Reuben, trailing fingertips along his shoulder. He was trying to put on a brave face, but looked about as horrified as Tor felt. On the couch behind them, Estelle was still covering her mouth, though no longer in shocked delight.

"A bit convenient, though, that you appear on the scene—so far from your quarters. But perhaps you were acting on pure instinct, detecting a traitor in our midst and following him here." She smirked at him, and Reuben looked as if he desperately wanted to say something. To defend himself. But he had no defense, could only claim Tor's part in it. He remained silent, and the feeling of heartsickness increased tenfold.

"I suppose it must come as a shock to you, seeing the Empire's beloved candidate here. But as you can see, she is being treated with the care and respect befitting of her class and position. Isn't that right, Lady Estellise?"

Tor bristled at the way that Mira addressed her, as if she cared even the tiniest amount about the other woman's well-being.

"Liberty's Fist needs bargaining chips if we are to make any progress; I am sure you are aware of this. Reuben, however, seems to have forgotten. We will have to remind him."

She smiled sweetly, tilting the man's face toward her with long, painted fingernails.

"I'm sure you regret this very grievous mistake. Don't you?" After a beat of stunned silence, Reuben nodded jerkily. She released his chin. "Very good. Now, how shall we resolve this. It simply will not do to have to question my people's loyalty."

A throat cleared, and Tor realized belatedly that Cyrus was also in the room, standing with arms crossed in a shadowy corner. He was easy to miss, considering how Mira's presence demanded one's attention.

"Yes, yes." Mira rolled her eyes. "Cyrus as well. We take betrayals quite seriously, you see."

Tor stood very still as he realized that Mira's intense green eyes were focused directly upon him. This situation had gone so very wrong; for a brief moment, he entertained the thought of fighting his way past, Estelle in tow. But Cyrus's ability, he knew, was nothing to be scoffed at, and though he had never seen Mira use that dagger that she always kept close at hand, he suspected she would also not be an easy one to cross. And then there were the guards, who would surely come running at the first sound of scraping steel. He clenched his jaw in frustration.

"How to resolve this, then. What do you imagine that we do with people who try to let our important prisoners escape?"

Mira was asking _him_, Tor realized as several seconds had passed. She wanted him to say it. He kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, mind racing.

"I...don't imagine that you let them live," he said at last, voice low, sounding far too loud in his ears as it broke the silence. A smile curved slowly on Mira's lips.

"Oh, he's very smart," she confided to Estelle over her shoulder. Tor didn't want to look at her, blue-green eyes wide, watching him.

"Now, then," Mira continued. "I propose a test."

Still standing in his corner with arms crossed, Cyrus snorted lightly. Mira either did not hear, or chose to ignore him.

"I dislike getting my hands dirty. And in my position, I should not have to, don't you agree?" She didn't wait for anyone to actually agree. "So. On one hand, we have suspicious circumstances and a man seeking to prove his loyalty. On the other...well, the same, though a bit more incriminating." She chuckled, and Tor felt his brow crease. He was not entirely sure, at this point, who she was talking about.

Reuben's posture at this point had slumped, expression numb and almost resigned. He would not look Tor in the eye, and Tor could not blame him. They should have been more patient, taken more time to plan this out better. But he could not have known that Estelle had not been harmed, then. His affection had blinded him.

"You're lucky, Tor." He snapped out of dark thoughts to find Mira smiling at him. "I'm going to give you another chance, because I truly believe that you are important to our cause. But as I said, I cannot be questioning your loyalty. So here is your test."

She waved a hand dismissively toward Reuben and walked away from him, heels clicking on the chamber's floor. Upon reaching Cyrus's corner, she stopped, leaned down to whisper something in his ear, one hand resting lightly on his shoulder. They were watching him, almost passively, Tor realized. And this. This was his test. A terrified, good-hearted man whose only crime was trying to help his love escape.

Things clicked into place with startling speed. Elaina had led them _here_. She had abandoned them, only to have Mira and Cyrus arrive shortly after. Tor knew Mira, and knew she had framed every detail—the room, the deceptive innocence in the way she claimed that Estelle had been treated. And he was utterly, thoroughly trapped.

If Tor refused to participate, they would at best keep him as a prisoner himself. More likely, they would kill him outright, and Estelle would be left with no one on the inside to help her. Refusal, as an option, meant that the entire plan would be a loss, all his time building trust wasted. He would have failed Flynn, failed Estelle, failed the Empire.

And yet.

They were watching him. Tor exhaled, drew his sword before he could talk himself out of it. Apologized to Reuben with his eyes, though it would never, never be enough. His sword was familiar by now with the feel of killing a man, last breath shaking from their lips, and the blade slid free even as he heard Estelle cry out somewhere in the distance. There would be blood pooling on the fine marble floors, but he couldn't look at it. Tor turned and walked away. It was only after he had reached his room once more that he slumped in the pale and spidery rectangle of moonlight, hands shaking as he emptied his stomach.

* * *

The streetlamps were just beginning to be lit, one by one, flaring into points of hazy brightness ahead of Yuri's path. One of them sputtered out in the wind that was blowing his hair into a tangled mess. He ducked under the eaves of a nearby roof, one hand pressed against the roughly splintered wood of the building's door. Once inside, he didn't bother trying to tame his hair, only strode up to the bar and slumped down onto a stool. The bartender, cleaning a glass, watched him dispassionately.

"This the part where I'm supposed to ask ya to tell me your troubles?" he said, after the silence had stretched.

Yuri snorted. "Don't think we have that kind of time, old man."

"Fair enough." The bartender shrugged, setting glass and cloth aside. "What'll it be, then?"

While he spoke, Yuri had straddled his stool to face the main room of the tavern, eyes scanning every table and dark corner. The place wasn't very busy that night, at least not yet. He didn't see who he was looking for, but kept one ear on the door for any new arrivals.

"Just information, if you have it." At the man's expectant look, Yuri pushed a few gald across the bar toward him. He grunted in what seemed to be approval, pocketing it. "There's a man who can be found here most nights. He usually sits up here until someone cuts him off or he runs out of money, whichever comes first. Name's Reuben."

Yuri described him, and the bartender nodded.

"Sure, sure. Hasn't been here in a while, though. Figured that lady friend of his had finally put her foot down. Y'know how it is."

His lips curved into a lascivious grin and Yuri nodded vaguely, gaze unfocused. The man's theory was possible, but something about it didn't quite feel right. Yuri couldn't really explain why, but there it was. He exhaled in frustration through his nose, fingers tapping idly against the wooden counter.

Even so, he decided to wait. The tavern's patrons increased as the night wore on; Yuri watched the door out of the corner of his eye each time it swung open to admit another. Despite the impatient twitch in his fingers, every time he felt sure that he was wasting his time, Yuri forced himself to wait just a few more minutes.

Eventually, the bar filled with people—he could feel the bartender's eyes on him, and knew he was taking the space of what could be a paying customer. A handful of gald only took him so far. With one last tip of his head toward the man, he rose and walked away, shouldering his way through the crowd and back into the windy night. The cobblestone streets curved downward, crossing and twisting all the way down to the base of Zaphias' hill, where the Lower Quarter sprawled, dimly lit and familiar.

After Rita had arrived, breathlessly announcing Estelle's abduction even as Judith exclaimed over her scrapes and the knot on her head, the innkeepers of the place where Flynn had been resting became increasingly nervous. Yuri hadn't wanted to put the people that he pretty much considered family in danger, but found himself herded back into the old inn of his childhood against half-hearted protests, to the rooms that he and Flynn knew so well. He had chuckled under his breath as Ted had unsheathed his sword—a real one that Yuri had bought for him, after his journey had ended—swearing that he would fight off any extremists that dared come down to the Quarter. These people—they really were something else.

Yuri ascended the wooden staircase that ran up the side of the two-story building, listening to the third and seventh step as they creaked under his boots. He knocked lightly on the door, but when no one answered he pulled out a key and twisted it until the lock clicked open.

The room was dark, cooling wax pooled around the candle that sat in the center of the small table below the window. Judith and Rita must have still been out; a growing pile of crumpled notes and formulas on the floor were evidence of the latter's frustration and lack of sleep. Repede lifted his head from where he lay curled on the floor, cracked open his good eye and woofed lightly in greeting. Yuri bent down and let his hand slide over the dog's short fur as he passed, eyes fixed on the back that was turned away from him, blankets covering all but the messy fringe of pale hair.

He perched on the edge of the mattress and poked Flynn's shoulder indelicately.

"You asleep?"

"Yes."

Yuri snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Well, even if I had been, I wouldn't be now, would I?" Flynn muttered as he rolled to face him. He brought one hand up from under the blankets to rub across his eyes, which even in this light looked shadowed and bloodshot.

"Any luck?" he asked, watching Yuri's face as he shook his head. "...I see."

Flynn exhaled, and Yuri knew how he felt. It was like a bad case of deja vu, Estelle being used as a pawn for some sick individual's plans to take over the Empire. Except this time, it wasn't as simple as running to a location and confronting them. This time, they had lost her. And they had no way of knowing what they had done with her. Yuri could only assume that if the worst had happened, Mira would take the earliest opportunity to rub it in their faces. He was actually surprised she hadn't already been around to taunt them. Maybe she figured it would be harder on them to not hear anything at all. And if that were the case, then she would be right.

It wasn't as if they had no leads whatsoever. For what small comfort that was. It was just that it was like every time they got close, the extremists were two steps ahead. Yuri didn't like that feeling. He had found Flynn, and then lost Estelle almost immediately after. It wasn't a track record that he was feeling particularly proud of, and all he wanted to do was take the organization down once and for all. The next time he crossed paths with Mira, he swore, _one_ of them wasn't going to walk away from it.

Flynn was still watching him, an expression of similar frustration creasing his features. He frowned, and the look shifted into something more conflicted, like he wanted to say something.

"Yuri," he finally said, and licked his lips. But he didn't say anything else for a long moment, instead shifted up onto his elbows, regarding Yuri seriously.

"I have a bad feeling about this. Perhaps it was a mistake all along."

Yuri had lots of bad feelings lately, about _many _things, but this seemed like something more specific. In fact, it kind of sounded like Flynn was talking more to himself, despite the way that his eyes met Yuri's like a challenge.

"I believe..." he began. "I believe that Tor may be in trouble."

Honestly, Yuri wished he could say that he felt much surprise. The only thing that did come as somewhat of a shock was that he was hearing the words from Flynn's mouth, instead of the all-too-frequent looks from the man like he wanted to say something, but couldn't. Wouldn't. They had carried on like usual, working late into the night to plan their next movement against Liberty's Fist, but it had hung between them—a seed of distrust that uprooted the things that Yuri thought that he had been finally, with all the stubbornness that had been his nature over the past twenty-two years, been figuring out.

He nodded. "Yeah?" he said quietly. "What do you want to do?"

Flynn was silent, as if he wished for a moment that he could take it back. Then he closed his eyes, and when he opened them again they were clear, determined.

"I want to get _both _of them back. As it stands, I feel as if we've already lost them. And I can't accept that, Yuri. Even if Tor is...still on our side," he said, admitting the man's true loyalties in one breath, with a wry, tight smile, "I can't help feeling that I've asked too much of him. We know from Raven's experience how badly double-agency can take a toll, splitting loyalties...It requires a mental fortitude that is considerable even without the possibility of Estellise as a distraction."

Yuri acknowledged this. "Well, let's look over our leads again, then. Gotta be something that we can use. And I think Rita was pretty close to a breakthrough earlier, though she might've been too sleep-deprived to realize it."

Flynn was looking at him strangely, though whether it was because of Yuri's lack of visible surprise or his immediate willingness to cooperate, he couldn't be sure. He narrowed his eyes, hand closing around Flynn's shoulder, which twitched a little at the abrupt contact.

"I'm not being left out of it this time, Flynn."

It wasn't a request. They were silent for a while, watching each other in the darkness, until Flynn spoke again, low and quiet.

"No," he agreed. "You're not."

* * *

A/N: Wow, so sorry you guys. This break was even longer than the original (and official) hiatus. D: Blame moving across the country, personal drama and busyness, etc., etc. ...And also the fact that I've been stuck on a plot point since, uh, actually well _before_ I started writing this chapter. But I finally figured it out, and that made me extremely happy. So here's an extra long chapter, just for you! And let me tell you, it feels good to be updating. :)

(And yes, Tor POV. In Chapter 32, when he's been around since day one. Ha. To be honest, I'd been trying to write the story without delving into his mind, but when I got to this point I realized that it would be impossible to tell the story that I wanted without doing it at least once, so. Oh well. Best-laid plans, and all that. :P Hope you enjoyed the chapter!)


	33. Confrontation

**33. Confrontation**

Mira woke to a room of empty shadows, the textures and colors of extravagant finery muted by darkness. She shifted, loose hair cascading over bare shoulders—like the open window that let in a pale strip of light, her thin silken gown was an acknowledgement that the days were growing warmer. In truth, she had expected to be wearing less. Cyrus had not come to her; not for several nights, until Mira could no longer brush it aside as an unfortunate consequence of the acceleration of the Fist's plans. They circled each other still, but in ever widening circles rather than tighter, closer. Even in their moments of shared passion, Cyrus seemed oddly detached. He remained an inconsistent enigma, one moment asserting his control, the next passively allowing Mira to direct his men as she wished. Irritating.

The position of the moon told Mira that many hours remained before she had intended to wake. She did not believe in coincidence. Stilling herself, she listened intently, the silence nearly complete but for the distant chirps of insects and the stirrings of the wind. She waited, until…there. A faint scraping on stone below her window. Not a Nameless One, then. It would have been unusual to have them visit again, so soon. They never announced themselves so carelessly.

There was no cause for alarm, of course. Guards stood at the ready just outside her door, and Mira was hardly defenseless herself. She slid the ornate dagger out from beneath her pillow, fingers curling around the hilt. A hand appeared at the window, gripping the sill only a moment before the man attached to it heaved himself up to perch there. He leaned against one of the glass panels that swung into Mira's room like doors; its hinges creaked, breaking the silence like a thunderclap.

"Your stealth leaves something to be desired," Mira noted dryly. "If I were not already awake, I most certainly would be now."

The light was dim, several paces between them, but Mira could still discern more cool smugness in Yuri Lowell's expression than chagrin.

"Who said I was trying to be stealthy?" He stepped forward from the ledge, an eyebrow lifting when he noticed the dagger, now unsheathed. "Woah, easy there. I'm just here to talk."

Unexpected, but it was just as well. If he had approached any closer, Mira would have called out—a guard would have a crossbow bolt buried in Lowell's heart before she could blink twice. Her gaze darted to the door reflexively. It was a tempting opportunity, but the coiled tension lingering under the surface of Yuri's casual stance told her that he would be back out the window before the door could swing open. She wondered how he found this place, if someone would need to be punished. But that would have to wait.

"Well," she said, "I must say that I'm flattered. Sneaking past all those guards couldn't have been easy."

"Who said I snuck past them?"

Yuri bared his teeth into something like a grin, quick and bright in the darkness. There was an edge to his demeanor that had been absent from their other encounters. It would unnerve her, except that Mira sensed his confidence must come from a place of reckless desperation. She held all the cards, and she would not hesitate to call his bluff.

"I will have to dock their pay, I suppose," she said coolly, examining the edge of her blade, turning it and watching where it caught the moonlight. "It simply won't do if they allow the one man to slip past who I have expressly told them to apprehend at all costs."

"Now _I'm_ flattered." Yuri's tone was dry, sarcastic. This had gone on for too long already.

"Don't be," Mira said. She sheathed the dagger in one smooth motion, glanced up to where Yuri still perched at her window. "You say that you have come here to talk. Go on, then. Before I decide to alert every guard in this compound and see just how far your luck will take you."

There was an unspoken moment of _why don't you_ in Yuri's eyes, communicated in the barest twitch of an eyebrow. Mira ignored it, along with the fact that she wasn't certain that she had an answer.

"I'll make this quick, then," said Yuri, crossing his arms as he leaned against the window. "We know where Estelle is; Tor, too. We know what you have planned. And we're going to stop you."

Pure bravado. Mira told herself this, despite the dark confidence she could see reflected in his eyes. Her mind raced through her contacts and messengers, wondering who had leaked the information even as she knew that it was far more important to find out what he knew, to alter their plans accordingly. They would need to—

Mira snapped her eyes up. Yuri was _laughing._

It started as a quiet chuckle, grew until his shoulders shook, head bowed and hair falling like a veil over his face as his laughter filled the room. Mira bristled, clenching the hilt of her dagger until her fingers ached.

"Oh, Mira," said Yuri when his mirth had finally subsided. The corner of his mouth still turned up, mocking her. "When are you going to learn that we _always_ win."

Before she could blink, he came to her, long fingers tilting up her chin. The kiss he pressed to her lips was soft at first, then turned desperate and vicious. She gasped into his mouth and tasted blood.

Mira woke to a room of empty shadows, the textures and colors of extravagant finery muted by darkness. She shivered, hair drenched with sweat, sticking to her neck and shoulders. Beside her, Cyrus slept. One arm was flung over the pillow covering his head, blanket slung low over bare hips. Mira slipped out of the bed and crossed to a full-length mirror, pressed fingers to the bite marks inside her lower lip. They came away red, the bitter salt of blood lingering on her tongue.

* * *

Wind rippled the tall grasses of the plains outside of Zaphias, tossing them back and forth like ocean waves. It was blowing from the ocean toward the capital city, stinging Flynn's eyes as he scanned the cloudless sky. Yuri stood not far away with Repede, arms crossed, hair blown back.

"Not long now," said Judith, from behind him. Rita had elected to stay behind at the inn—or, more accurately, had muttered to herself over a disheveled pile of scrawled-on papers and shooed Flynn away irritably when he had come to tell her where they were going. She had been even pricklier than usual since Estellise's kidnapping, and Flynn wasn't about to force the issue.

Sure enough, a small dark patch of sky began to resolve itself into a swiftly approaching, multicolored blur. The wind kicked up, grass flattening as Ba'ul glided to a stop about twenty paces in front of them. Karol appeared at the top of a rope ladder, hopping down when he reached the end. He slipped goggles down around his neck and adjusted his bandana.

"Thanks, Ba'ul," he called up, receiving a long warble in return. He looked back at Judith. "That was 'you're welcome,' right?"

"More or less," she said, smiling wryly at the Entelexeia. "If with a bit more embellishment. I'm not sure who you're trying to impress."

Ba'ul rumbled back and Judith laughed fondly.

"It is good to see you, my friend," she said, reaching out to touch one of his fins. "Thank you for bringing Karol to us."

His reply was much shorter this time, prompting more soft laughter from Judith as he lifted into the air. She and Karol waved while he departed.

"Well, then," she said, "what brings you halfway around the world so urgently?"

Still watching as Ba'ul receded to a speck in the distance, Karol jumped a little at Judith's voice.

"Well," he said, rubbing at the back of his neck, "as you might've guessed, not a lot happened with the extremists in Dahngrest after Mira left. Me and Raven kind of went back to guild business as usual, but we still kept an eye on them, just in case."

"You must have learned something if you came all this way," said Yuri, preemptively deductive as usual.

"Right." Karol nodded, then suddenly seemed hesitant. "It's about their plans for the capital, but…maybe we should talk about this somewhere…safer?"

Although they were the only people in sight, it was a fair point. A group like theirs, standing in the middle of monster-infested fields, was sure to draw attention eventually. And that was something that they certainly did not need.

"We've been staying at the Comet," said Flynn. "We could go there, and then you can tell us what you discovered."

Rita was coaxed out of her self-imposed research exile by the promise of information that might help them rescue Estellise. She stood next to the fireplace, either unaware or ambivalent about the ink stains on her fingers and streaked across her nose. For the first time in weeks, though, her eyes were bright and focused. Her foot tapped an impatient rhythm on the floor.

"Can't the runt's stomach wait five minutes," she finally snapped. Flynn was honestly surprised that it hadn't happened sooner.

" 'm not a runt," said Karol, around a mouthful of jam-laden toast. He swallowed. "I even had a growth spurt last month. Soon I bet I'll be taller than you, Rita."

He spent a moment preening over this boast and Rita made a suspiciously growl-like sound in the back of her throat.

"Karol," Flynn said quickly. "Are you ready now?"

The boy nodded, brushing crumbs onto his plate and wiping his mouth.

"I, um, I guess I'll start with _how_ we found out. It was kind of an accident." Karol's brow furrowed as he stared down at the table. "We were at a tavern, and—"

Rita snorted in disbelief. "You went to a tavern with that old pervert? Do I even want to know?"

"It's not like it was the first time," he muttered, probably inaudible from where Rita was standing. "Anyway," he said, louder, "Flynn, remember that woman who tried to kill you last time you were in Dahngrest?"

A series of images flashed through Flynn's mind—a woman's manic glee, the jagged blade clutched in her hand, her cry of pain as Yuri twisted her arm, talking low and dark into her ear. Against his will, Flynn's eyes slid over to where Yuri was standing. The line of his jaw was tight, eyes narrowed dangerously. He seemed unaware of Flynn's gaze on him.

"Anya," he said, the name dripping with venom.

"R-right," said Karol. His eyes widened at Yuri's intensity, but he kept talking. "So she was at the tavern that night, and she was _really_ drunk. I couldn't have ignored her if I'd wanted to. At first it was kind of hard to figure out what she was saying, it seemed all mixed up and crazy. She even stood on a table, until someone said that they were gonna kick her out if she didn't get down."

"Well, what did she say?" asked Rita, irritably.

"Easy, now," said Judith. "Let the boy tell the story his way."

Rita opened her mouth again, then clamped down on whatever she had been about to say, crossing her arms more tightly. Karol glanced between them uncertainly, until Yuri nodded at him.

"She was ranting about how they were so close to victory, that the Empire's days were numbered…it could've just been a drunk person's wishful thinking, but I paid more attention when she started getting more specific, talking about their secret weapon and how no one would expect it…"

Flynn shared a concerned glance with Yuri. When he looked back over at Karol, the boy was biting his lip nervously.

"Anything else?"

"Well, ah…I had to get Raven's attention after that…"

More than one person snorted, though it was difficult to tell who. Everyone in the room could easily imagine the scenario of Raven at a Dahngrest tavern.

"…And we managed to corner her, but she was pretty far gone. Kept smirking at us, even when Raven shook her by the shoulders. Which was a little scary. But like I said—she was _really_ drunk. So eventually she started talking, saying that we were too late, that by next week Liberty's Fist would be in control. That Ioder was going to die and there was nothing that we could do about it."

"Well, that does narrow it down," said Judith, after a moment. "Thank you, Karol."

He bobbed his head, scratching at the back of his hair.

"We turned her over to Harry, of course. But she wouldn't give any more information after she sobered up—if we find out anything else…"

"…It'll probably be too late," Yuri finished. "I think that's all the help that we'll get out of that one."

Karol nodded mutely, head bowed, and Yuri walked over and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Now we have somewhere to start from, kid. It's not totally hopeless."

"You always do know how to cheer someone up," said Judith.

"We know something important that we didn't before," Yuri went on, ignoring Judith's wry jab, "and that's that Ioder is their next big target, and soon."

There was a determined edge in Yuri's voice, one that usually meant it was time for Flynn to worry about him, that he would stubbornly press on until either his goals were accomplished or he landed himself in trouble again. But this time, Flynn wasn't letting him out of his sight. It turned out that trying to leave him out of things, trying to let him sink or swim on his own, was a _monumentally_ bad idea. For both of them.

"Isn't there a festival coming up?" he said, drawing everyone in the room's attention. "I seem to recall Ioder saying that he was going to give a speech."

"That seems almost too obvious," said Rita, a bit crossly, though her eyes were still bright with resolve.

"Perhaps," said Judith, "but it wouldn't hurt to be prepared for the possibility."

This much, at least, everyone could agree upon. Several people started talking at once, over each other as they made plans to warn Ioder, and Flynn almost missed Rita's quiet statement, flat in tone as ever but with a hint of concern.

"Isn't that festival today?"

Yuri cursed, snatching up his sword and heading for the door. Repede leapt up with a growl and wasn't far behind him. As the others followed, streaming past the innkeeper who by now was so used to this sort of thing that she barely blinked, Flynn could not help the feeling of dread that crept over him. It was never a good sign when they were one step behind the extremists' plans.

* * *

It was such a small thing, in the end. To let go, to give himself up as lost. The look of horror on Estelle's face, glimpsed from the corner of his eye, never stopped replaying in his mind. More than the stench of blood and death, more than Reuben's resigned terror, this was the image that Tor could never shake. He wondered what that said about him. That deep down, he cared more about killing a woman's love for him than he did about killing an innocent man. Although, in truth, the two things were intertwined to the point that he was not certain which one was making him so sick at heart.

But none of that mattered, now. Not really. They could linger like ghosts, a constant reminder of the point of no return, but it changed nothing. He could only move forward, doing everything in his power to keep Estelle safe. If in the process he became a man that he despised, then so be it. It was all that he had left.

Ironically, perhaps, Tor was given more freedom in the weeks that followed. As if Mira knew just how tightly she held him now, how far he had fallen. He wandered the grounds of the estate as if in a trance, received orders woodenly and carried them out equally so. No one approached him, as if they had been directed not to do so. And it was just as well; he was in no mood for idle conversation.

He did not see Estelle again after that day—knowing that she was still an unwilling "guest" there never got easier, a constant, itchy tightness under Tor's skin. And Mira, she never allowed him to forget. As if he could. Even if it was unspoken, communicated only with a heavy, significant look, it informed his ever action. And if, as the weeks passed, following Fist orders without question began to stop feeling like a necessary evil and more like second nature…well.

The festival spilled across three broad streets in the Public, fanning out from one the quarter's many squares. Banners hung from windows and rooftops, bright colors to match the tents and booths that lined the streets. The crowd was shoulder to shoulder in some places, minor nobles mingling among peasants with obvious reluctance. A steady buzz of chatter was overlaid with the strings and drums of musicians on street corners, playing for the donations of passers-by.

It felt strange to move through such a crow without the instantly identifiable uniform of the Knights. It had not been so long that Tor didn't twitch as he passed a customer quarreling loudly with a food vendor, feeling as if he should intervene, keep the peace. The feeling passed, however. He kept walking.

It was well past midday, the festival goers beginning to drift toward the square for the afternoon's main events. There would be court musicians, dancers and, it was said, the first performance by the acting guild in the Imperial capital in over _ years. Ioder was already doing much to repair relations between the empire and the guilds, but it wasn't enough. Was it? Tor shook his head, as if to clear a fog, but his thoughts remained clouded. He only had room for the task at hand, none for hesitation.

By the time that Tor made his way through the crush of people, the play was already in progress. It was almost eerily quiet after the cacophony of the streets, only the actors' voices rising and falling, holding their audience in rapt attention as they played out a dramatic tale on the stage. A comedic character coaxed out a laugh to break the tension; Tor stood at the back, scanning the crowd. He tried to find the thread of anxiety he knew should be there for showing himself at an official imperial function, but there was only grim numbness, so he put it out of his mind. All that remained was a lingering frustration that he kept allowing himself to be distracted. His hand clenched and unclenched at his side.

As the play wound to a close, applause erupting as the guild members took a bow, Tor took the opportunity to slip further into the crow, shuffling sideways between them while they were too busy to complain. He was nearly to the stage, off to the left of the tall wooden platform, when a hand closed around his shoulder. Whirling around, whatever he'd been about to say died on his lips.

"Tor," said Kyan, brow creased with troubled confusion. "Are you alright? I thought you might be dead. And, well…obviously you're not. What are you doing here?"

Kyan, always saying twenty words when three would suffice. It was a dim voice in the back of Tor's mind, his heart lurching painfully at his old friend's appearance before him in this moment. Of course he would be here. But how much did he know? If he thought that Tor might be dead…

"Tor," Kyan said again, demanding his attention. Could he spin a story? This was a possibility that he should have prepared for. His mouth worked, but nothing sprang to mind that was plausible, that would divert Kyan's suspicion.

The other man pressed closer, dropped his voice low he spoke, entreating and ragged-edged.

"Please, Tor. Don't do this."

The hand that was clasped once more around Tor's shoulder tightened, suddenly more a warning, an entrapment, than merely a friend's concern. He stumbled back, wrenching himself away as his heart thudded in his chest. Kyan frowned, but his hand wavered indecisively for a critical second as he reached for his sword. Tor slipped back into the crowd, putting distance between them, and did not bother with empty apologies.

* * *

The late afternoon shadows and the sheer amount of people attending the festival allowed Yuri and the others to reach the square without incident—and, he hoped, without attracting the notice of any extremists that were sure to be scattered throughout the crowd. It was a necessary balance of haste and caution that made Yuri clench his teeth, but the last thing he wanted was a repeat of the basement. They'd even picked up a brightly colored hat made out of balloons for a few gald along the way, pressing it down over Karol's brow as he sputtered and flailed.

"Gotta blend in," said Yuri, pointedly ignoring the kid's protests and questions about why _he_ wasn't wearing one, then. He calmed down when Judy bought a set of orange and purple ribbons, tying them around her antennae and letting them stream behind her as they hurried down the street.

The stage was empty, people milling around and talking amongst themselves, obviously reluctant to go anywhere and risk losing their vantage point for Ioder's speech. Yuri nodded and the group split into pairs—Judith with Karol, Rita accompanied by Repede. Yuri and Flynn skirted the edge of the crowd, trying to get behind the stage where Ioder would be most likely to appear. The closer they got to the platform, though, the surlier the people around them became.

"Sorry," Flynn muttered, as if he couldn't help himself. Yuri shook his head, keeping a firm grip at his elbow as they inched forward. There was a wooden barrier that stretched along the front of the stage, extended on either side so that you couldn't get around it. Yuri was just going to hop over it, but a knight passed by on patrol and noticed them there. His eyes widened when he saw Flynn and Yuri shook his head, raising a finger to his lips.

"We need to speak with Prince Ioder. It is a matter of utmost importance."

Flynn spoke sharply and with authority, but the knight hesitated. Yuri was about to take matters into his own hands when a very familiar voice sounded from nearby.

"What is the meaning of this—Lowell."

Sodia's almond eyes regarded him with their usual conflicted expression, which only intensified as they slid over to fall on her predecessor and former idol. They flickered through a series of emotions in quick succession, finally settling on a cool haughtiness that Yuri had seen many times, but never directed at Flynn.

"Scifo. I trust you are well."

Flynn opened his mouth, but seemed unsure of what to say. The patrolling knight shuffled with obvious discomfort.

"Listen," said Yuri, "We don't have time for this. Sodia, tell Ioder not to go up on that stage. His life is in danger; the extremists are going to try to kill him."

She stared at Yuri as if he had been speaking nonsense.

"The Knights are out in force. I've established a perimeter of—"

"Doesn't matter. Is it really worth the risk?"

"But…"

"I mean it, Sodia. Ioder can't be allowed to give that speech."

She was gaping at him now, but finally shut her mouth with an almost audible click, tossing her head so that the short braid swayed back and forth.

"I don't take orders from you, Yuri Lowell. Not now and not ever. That you'd presume—"

"Sodia, don't be a fool."

Flynn spoke quietly but firmly, and her eyes snapped back over to him, wide with shock.

"I…"

She held his gaze for several moments before whirling around, leaving the knight to stare after her, baffled. Yuri and Flynn exchanged a glance—Yuri wondered briefly if he'd just have to cross the barrier after all, had a hand on the wood ready to vault over, when Sodia reappeared.

"It's too late," she said. It wasn't clear whether she believed their story of a threat or not, but she did look troubled. Of course, Sodia usually did. "I'm sorry, he's already on his way."

Yuri cursed, not sparing her another look as he scanned the stage waiting for Ioder to appear. He didn't need to bother. The second that he was sighted at the back of the stage, flanked by guards, the crowd broke into thunderous applause and shouting. Ioder nodded toward them, smiling, and after a moment raised a hand in an attempt to calm them. Sunlight reflected off the knights' armor, highlighted Ioder's golden hair. It caught on a curling tendril that escaped the helmet of one of the guards, gleaming like burnished…

"Flynn," said Yuri, urgently. "How many members of your guard have copper curls?"

Flynn frowned, his brow creasing.

"None of—" His expression abruptly froze, statue-like, and Yuri knew that he had seen it, too. Was thinking the same thing. "Stars, Tor. What are you doing?"

Yuri grimaced. He tightened his grip on the leather strap of his sword.

"Let's go."

Ignoring the protests of those around them, with no more half-hearted apologies from Flynn, they forced their way up to the stage, clearing the barrier as soon as they reached it.

"Hey, wait—" said a knight as they breezed past, proving just how effective Sodia's damned perimeter really was. Yuri climbed the stairs two at a time, vaguely aware of the shocked murmurs of the crowd as they noticed what was happening.

"Ioder," he shouted. Blue eyes met his, startled and confused. Probably-Tor jerked his helmed head up, reached for his sword.

"Yuri," said Ioder. "I trust that you have a good reason to interrupt—"

"Drop that sword, Altiren," came Flynn's voice of command from behind him, and Yuri really, really hoped that he was right about this. The distinctive sound of iron scraping against a sheath was answer enough. Yuri slid his own free in one smooth motion.

"Wrong move," he said dryly. Flynn had been right about one thing. This guy was _definitely_ in trouble. Pretty-Much-Definitely-Tor was still too close to Ioder for comfort. He seemed to waver, sword still clutched in hand, and then, apparently having reached a decision, turned on his heel and started running.

"C'mon," said Yuri, as if he had to tell Flynn twice. They flew down the stairs on the opposite side of the stage from where they started, chasing after the armored man. The bulky uniform gave him a distinct disadvantage, though, so it only took a minute for them to overtake him near the entrance to a street branching off of the square.

He was already breathing heavily when Yuri launched into an attack, and landed hard on his side from a spinning blow. Flynn stood over him as he scrambled back on his hands and feet, panting.

"It was wrong of me to send you to them," Flynn said solemnly. "The cost proved too high. But it may not be too late for you to return to us."

Tor was silent, almost completely still besides his heaving breaths.

"Tor? Please say something. If we can prove that you had no choice—"

"I'm sorry," he said, was on his feet in a flash, snatching up his sword from the dirt. He struck Flynn with the pommel across the temple as Yuri shouted, but did not wait for Yuri's bared steel to cross with his, as it certainly would if he had tried to strike Flynn with this blade. He turned and ran once more as Yuri dropped to Flynn's side.

He was tearing a strip of fabric from his shirt to dab at the gash on Flynn's brow when a pair of boots slid to a stop beside him, kicking up a cloud of dust that made Yuri cough before it settled. When he looked up, he expected Karol, maybe, or one of the guards—what he got was a sandy-haired man in plain but well-made clothes, staring down at Flynn with his face creased with concern.

"Is he—"

"Knocked out," Yuri said simply, returning to his ministrations. "That bastard…"

The man knelt beside him, tanned fingers reaching out to brush hair aside and examine the wound.

"That will be a nasty bruise."

"You a doctor?"

"What—" His eyes flicked up to Yuri, then back down. "No, I…sorry. I'm a friend."

"A friend, huh. You're gonna have to give me more than that."

"Tomas," the man said. "Tomas Fenly."

"Yuri Lowell. Never heard of you."

The man's fingers stilled where they rested just against the skin of Flynn's brow. His expression was blank for a moment, then the corners of his mouth turned up.

"No," he said slowly. "You wouldn't have."

Whatever that was supposed to mean. Yuri shrugged, keeping one eye on Flynn, whose chest expanded evenly with each breath. When he glanced back over at the stage, it was empty. Ioder must've been hidden away, out of danger. Yuri wondered if the others were with him. And more importantly, where Mira and Cyrus were in all this.

"What was all that about, anyway?" asked Tomas.

Yuri snorted.

"It's kind of a long story."

"The short version, then."

"Extremists, assassination plot, the guy that bashed Flynn over the head used to be a knight," said Yuri, ticking the points off on his fingers.

"Wow, that _was_ short. Color me impressed."

"Yeah, well. I don't have time to mess around."

Tomas chuckled, shaking his head. At that moment, Flynn stirred a little and groaned—Tomas pulled his hand away but seemed to relax when Flynn's eyelids only fluttered a couple of times then closed again.

Yuri leaned forward to check Flynn's pulse, beating warm and steady in his neck. The back of his fingers brushed as he slid them away, and when he looked over Tomas was watching him with that same half-smile.

"What—" Yuri started to say, but the other man just shook his head and returned his gaze to Flynn.

"I'd offer my help, but…well, I am no hero. Still, if there is anything that I can do…"

"Sure," said Yuri, kind of dismissively. He bit back the impulse to say 'I still have no idea who you even _are_.' Just barely. And only because Flynn twitched and groaned softly again, his head turned toward Yuri's knee.

Tomas rose to his feet. "I should go. You seem to have things under control here. I am clearly only in the way."

Yuri arched an eyebrow at that, but shrugged, standing as well.

"Flynn'll be fine," he said, because the guy obviously seemed concerned, had run over here to check on him in the first place.

"Yes, I'm confident of that," said Tomas. "If you've managed to find your way back to each other, and he trusts you at his side…"

He trailed off, looked at Flynn for a second or two more before nodding and walking away. Yuri watched him go, one hand on his hip, completely mystified.

"The hell…"

"Yuri? What…ugh." Flynn clutched the side of his head, blinking up at him.

"Hey. Hey, steady."

Flynn rose to a seated position with a bit of assistance from Yuri, then waved him off.

"I'll be alright. Was I out long?"

"…Not really. Take it easy, though."

"Yuri, there's no time. We need to follow Tor."

Despite his recent wound, there was steely determination in Flynn's expression.

"Yeah," said Yuri, not bothering to voice what they both knew—that Tor was already long gone, that he wasn't exactly going to make himself easy to be found. Not that that kind of thing had ever stopped them before.

Flynn glanced around, frowning slightly. He turned back to Yuri.

"Was someone else with you just now? I could swear I heard them talking. In fact…"

He shook his head as if dismissing something ridiculous, then winced and pressed a palm to his temple. Whatever Yuri might have said in response was interrupted by a collective gasp from the crowd. Following their upturned gaze revealed a clearly agitated Ba'ul, swooping and diving low enough to cause many onlookers to scramble for cover. He let out a long warble, which only increased the situation's chaos.

"What's wrong?" Flynn asked sharply—and probably rhetorically.

"Dunno," said Yuri, hands planted on both hips as he watched the Entelexeia's erratic path through the air. "I don't speak Ba'ul. Something bad."

Flynn made a sound of frustration, hand clenching reflexively around the pommel of his still-sheathed sword. Ba'ul disappeared from sight at the far edge of the crowd, which had by now dispersed significantly. Those who remained seemed more curious than fearful. They still kept their distance, though, when the large creature skimmed only a few paces over their heads and landed in front of Yuri and Flynn.

The others were already astride the Entelexeia, strapped into harnesses that Rita had designed. Judith unrolled the ladder and called down.

"Ba'ul says that Mira and Cyrus have taken Tokunaga's ship. They are already at sea, headed for Torim Harbor."

Yuri cursed and hopped up for the ladder's first rung, pulling himself up with Flynn close behind him.

"They have Estelle," said Rita, once they were seated and secure. Ba'ul let out another trilling warble as they lifted into the air. "They have her, and we're going to get her back."

* * *

A/N: I'm… I'm still writing, I swear. :p It's seriously been a crazy time, but thank you all once again for being so patient. There are a few more chapters left after this one. Hope you enjoyed it! (A brief note: if anyone is confused, most of the first scene with Mira is a dream. Yuri didn't actually visit her; hopefully that was clear, but just in case. :) )


	34. Pursuit

A/N: Ahh, it's been forever, I know. Depression's a bitch, guys. :P But I really hope you like the new chapter. I…can't promise when the next one will be. I still care about this story and want to finish it, though. Enjoy!

**34. Pursuit**

The water was almost unnaturally still, smooth like dark glass. Mira stalked across the deck to the bow, where Tokunaga huddled over a sheaf of papers and navigational instruments, clutched in both hands. His head snapped up at the sound of Mira's heels clicking on the wood as she approached.

"I am not certain that you understood when I said that I would triple whatever it is that Lowell and his little band of misfits are paying you."

She did not bother to hide the edge of impatience in her voice. Tokunaga's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, but he nodded, head tilted to one side.

"Oh, I understood," he said. "And I am already paid pretty damn well. But there's no amount of gald that'll move a boat that's becalmed. The ocean is her own master."

He shrugged one dark shoulder and Mira resisted hissing in frustration, just barely.

"Just get us moving," she snapped, turning on her heel. She came dangerously close to slamming the heavy door of the cabin behind her, reining in her temper enough to appear cool and composed for the guards she had placed there.

The scene inside was much as she had left it a few minutes before—Tor and Cyrus playing chess at a small table, brows furrowed in concentration. So it appeared, at least; the former knight was losing badly, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. Perhaps they were with the young woman curled up on the bunk mere footsteps away, the fluttering of her closed eyes telling the lie in the sleep she feigned. Mira stopped in front of her and Estellise immediately stiffened. She truly was abysmally terrible at deception.

"Princess." There was no respect given to the title, Mira's tone sing-song and darkly mocking. She snapped her fingers in front of the girl's face, though the gesture was unnecessary—her eyes had flown open as soon as Mira had spoken. Still, there was some satisfaction to be had in the way that Estellise flinched and drew away as far as the cabin's bunk would allow. Her hand clutched a handful of skirts tightly, knuckles drawn and pale.

"I am going to ask you a question," said Mira, "and I expect you to cooperate. Understood?"

Estellise's eyes flashed—there was that stubborn streak in her yet—but she nodded, sharp and thin-lipped.

"Excellent. Now, we are faced with a rather unfortunate predicament, you see. We should be well on our way to Torim Harbor, yet instead her we sit, going nowhere at all. That simply won't do, will it?"

The girl said nothing. Mira drew a breath, but Cyrus's flat voice interrupted further reprimand.

"Mira."

She shot him an impatient look over her shoulder, but he had already returned his attention to the game. Most of his pieces still stood, having picked off Tor's one by one. Cyrus was now going in for the proverbial kill, though no one would know it by the expression of utter boredom on his face.

"We do," Mira continued calmly, turning her back on the scene, "possess one distinct advantage in this situation. You see, we have our very own freak of nature. And it is my understanding that you may use your powers for all manner of things. Generating a wind storm, say."

Estellise darted a glance over at Tor, his face still unchanged as Cyrus removed his final piece from the board, then back to Mira.

"It…it doesn't work that way," she began tentatively, ending with a confidence that Mira almost believed. She tsked, shaking her head.

"Tor, can she do it?"

He looked up at her, blinking as if he had been far away. Mira decided that strangling the man, however satisfying, would be counter-productive.

"Can her artes manipulate the wind?" she clarified coolly.

The girl watched with wide eyes that Tor would not meet. A heartbeat passed, then another.

"Yes," he said, as if the word had been wrenched from his throat. Estellise sank back into the bunk, never looking away from the former knight even as Mira's hand closed around her wrist to draw her out. Her eyes glistened with tears.

"I suppose I must do everything myself?" Mira snapped when the men remained seated at the table. "Help me get her up on deck."

Cyrus ascended the ladder first, taking Estellise by the arm when she reached the top, with Mira following close behind. Predictably, Tor took the rear, his movements stiff and wooden. Mira directed Cyrus to bring the girl to the middle of the deck, which slowly creaked from side to side as the ship bobbed in place.

"I…I could call down magic and kill us all," Estellise said into the silence, scarcely more than a whisper.

Mira made a derisive noise.

"And kill your lover? I think not. Even despite his betrayal, you do not possess the nerve, princess."

Estellise bit her lip, gaze cast up to the cloudless sky. Then she bowed her head, lips moving almost without sound as she wove her glyphs of colored light. They shimmered, suspended in the air, then faded. A moment later, her hair was blown back by a strong gust of wind, pink strands dancing in all directions. Mira smiled.

"Make for Torim Harbor," she called to Tokunaga, who had been watching from his station at the captain's wheel. "We haven't a moment to lose."

Mira could feel the boat shifting, its bow slicing through the water and creating a rippling V that trailed on either side of the wooden hull. They were underway once again.

"Very good." It was meant as a general statement, but when Estellise looked her way, Mira nodded. "Yes, you've proven yourself quite useful for once. That wasn't so hard, now was it?"

The young woman gave no response, hands clasped before her. Mira shrugged and started to turn away—there was no reason to idle here on deck, where the wind was tangling her hair and stinging her face. She motioned the others to follow, and had almost reached the ladder when Estellise let out a sharp gasp.

It did not take long to determine the cause, not when a long shadow fell over the ship, its caster flying low to match the new pace set by the unnatural wind. It let out a deep sound of varying pitches—a greeting? A challenge? It was impossible to tell.

"It's that wretched Entelexeia…"

"His name is _Ba'ul_," said Estellise. She extended one arm toward the sky to wave in its direction, rising up onto her toes. Mira huffed impatiently.

"What are you two standing around for? Restrain the girl and get her back below."

Tor seemed hesitant to lay a hand on the girl; fortunately, Cyrus appeared to have it under control. Mira watched as she was lead by the arm through the door and directed to climb below, Tor lagging several paced behind like a petulant child. She opened her mouth to berate him, but in the next moments the ship lurched violently as it was pulled into a sharp turn about. Unprepared for this, Mira was knocked to the deck, letting out an undignified screech as she rolled a ways until the ship settled into its new course.

Tor, it seemed, had kept to his feet by steadying himself against the doorway. He blinked at Mira where she lay catching her breath.

"Well, don't just stand there," she said at last. "Help me up, you oaf."

Mira snatched her hand away as soon as Tor had hauled her to her feet, giving him a sour, tight-lipped look before stalking away toward the ship's bow. Tokunaga stood placidly at the wheel, his gaze shifting between the open sea and the monstrous creature in the sky.

"What do you think you're doing?" Mira hissed, the menace in her voice in sharp contrast with the simplicity of her words.

"Change of plans," said Tokunaga. He could have been discussing the weather. Mira felt her blood pressure rising, fought for control.

"_I_ an in charge here, in case you have somehow forgotten that fact. We are headed for Torim Harbor unless I say otherwise. Did I say otherwise?"

Tokunaga continued to watch the sea and sky.

"What about Cyrus?" he said, rather than answer her question. She grit her teeth.

"Cyrus? I do not understand his relevance to the matter at hand."

"He's the Zaphias leader, right? Seems to me that makes him outrank you. Maybe _he_ told me to change course."

"He wouldn't—" Mira paused. The man was deliberately distracting her! She reached out and pulled him back by his shirt collar, forcing him to look at her.

"I should have you punished for your insolence," she said. Tokunaga swallowed once, the only outward sign of fear. His expression remained carefully neutral.

"Ah," he said. "But then who would captain the ship?"

Mira raised her free hand as if to strike him, smiling as he flinched involuntarily. She released him and walked a few paces back down the deck, snapped her fingers once. Two men were at her side almost instantly.

"Ready your crossbows," she said. "Take down that beast."

They nodded in unison, turning on their heels to fulfill her command. It was nice to see that there were _some _who remained obedient. The Entelexeia had swooped down much closer to the ship—how convenient. At this distance, she could make out the faces of his riders, if not very clearly: Yuri and Flynn Scifo, of course; that little bitch of a mage; the Kritya, riding up in front, a long spear in hand—and that little runt of a child, whose usefulness in the group escaped her completely.

The ship rocked again in choppy water, and likely saved her life. As she staggered, heels wobbling, the spear lanced down like lightning, ripping through the bottom of her dress and embedding tip-first in the deck. She felt warmth spreading in the lower part of her thigh and moved the fabric aside to see a shallow gash, blood trickling down her leg. Allowing only the briefest of moments to regret the loss of a favorite dress, she tore off the dangling fabric and tied it around the wound. Then she pulled the spear out of the wood and limp-strode over to her men.

"Send this back to them," she spat. "I don't care how you do it, but make it count."

They already stood with their crossbows trained on the creature, she noted.

"Were you waiting for a written invitation?" she asked sardonically. "_Shoot_ the damn thing!"

Mira could feel a headache beginning to settle between her eyes. She wasn't sure if it was connected to the throbbing pain of her wound, or the continued incompetence of those who worked for her. The crossbow bolts began to fly, which gave her some satisfaction, though she wished she'd had the time and space on the ship to gather more men. Two salvos at a time were not likely to have much effect on a hide so tough and scaly. They looked to be drawing closer, as well, likely in an attempt to board. This she would not allow. They were clearly overconfident and desperate—let that be their downfall.

* * *

"I think I can make it from here, Judy," Yuri said, peering down at the shop over her shoulder. He was pretty sure he'd made drops this far before—or at least, what was a few more meters here or there? If he dropped into a roll…

"You'd break your neck. Let's get just a bit closer." Flynn was just behind him; Yuri could feel his body heat, what little there was at this altitude, radiating against his back. He made a sound of grudging agreement, though his fingers beat an impatient rhythm against the hilt of his sword.

Their attempts to get close enough to board were slowed by the fact that Ba'ul did his best to dodge the crossbow bolts flying up at him, his warbling call tinged with anger and frustration. Judy said that they presented very little real danger to the Entelexeia—but no one liked getting shot at. Whenever Yuri caught a glimpse of Judy's face, she appeared deep in concentration, communicating silently with her longtime companion. The deck drew closer almost imperceptibly slowly, until Yuri realized with some surprise that they were finally close enough.

"Flynn, with me. Guys, cover us."

"Right!" said Karol. Yuri quickly threw off the rest of his harnessing, settling himself into a crouched stance. From the corner of his eye, he saw Flynn do the same.

"This is it, on three, let's—"

His eyes followed a streak of color, too fast to track. When it had passed out of sight, Ba'ul let out a long and anguished bellow, banking abruptly to the left and up, his passengers tilting with him. Yuri cursed, grasping for his harness, his other hand closing around Flynn's upper arm without conscious thought.

"I'm alright, Yuri," he said, voice low and steady. He'd secured himself to the harnessing as well, Yuri noted as they leveled out. He nodded and released Flynn's arm. "Is Ba'ul badly hurt?"

This was said loud enough for Judy to hear—she looked at Flynn over her shoulder, expression pained.

"He needs to land, he is losing too much blood. With _my_ spear," she said, the last more to herself, laced with venom. Below, the crossbow bolts still flew, but Ba'ul was no longer expending the extra energy to avoid them.

"They're shooting them into the wound, the bastards," said Rita, eyes narrowed. She'd been uncharacteristically quiet as they'd watched Estelle's wind artes from afar, green eyes wide and unblinking. Yuri was angry that their rescue attempt had been thwarted, of course, but what could they do?

"Lucky damn shot," he muttered. "Alright, we land. Are we closer to Nor or Torim Harbor?"

"T-Torim," said Karol, scanning the sea and wrinkling his nose in thought. "But they're headed back the other way."

"Good old Tokunaga," said Yuri. "It won't last, though. If I know one thing about Mira, it's that she _hates_ losing."

Sure enough, at the bow of the ship Mira and the former merchant guild captain appeared deep in a heated argument. After a little while, Tokunaga bowed his head and started spinning the wheel.

"Always with one more card up her sleeve," Judy said softly. Ba'ul slowly flew upward, in the direction of Torim Harbor. Dark droplets of blood struck the water, staining it only for a moment before they dissipated and were claimed by the fathomless depths of the sea.

They made landfall on a small beach just northeast of Torim Harbor, Ba'ul rolling onto his side almost immediately as his passengers freed themselves of the harnessing.

"Easy, my friend," said Judith, deep concern evident in her voice. She pressed a hand to the scale on Ba'ul's belly, well away from the wound. Yuri examined it grimly from a distance of a few paces, sensing rather than seeing Flynn step up beside him.

"It looks bad," he said softly.

Yuri said nothing, just continued to observe, arms crossed. Judith had her head bowed, apparently in intense psychic communication with the Entelexeia, whose warbling was different than Yuri had ever heard it. Sharper, maybe. After a minute or two, Judith stepped back and dropped her hand. She looked back at the others, who had gathered in a loose semi-circle around them.

"It appears worse than what it is," she said. "This is the good news. However, there is a very real risk of infection if we do not have the supplies to help the wounds heal properly. We'll need to send someone into town—there is a balm that should help, and we need many more gels than we have with us to be effective for Ba'ul's size."

"Don't we need to…ah…remove…" Karol gestured at the spear, still embedded in Ba'ul's flesh.

"Yes, of course." A fresh flash of anger crossed Judith's normally calm features as she looked at the weapon. It passed just as quickly. "But carefully. I will need to clean away much of this blood first. Meanwhile, we should acquire those supplies. I will feed Ba'ul all the gels we already have—it may help the pain a little."

"I'm gonna help you," said Rita, glancing at the others with a look that dared them to argue with her. Yuri definitely wouldn't—would only mention how shaken she still was from seeing Estelle on Mira's ship if he had a death wish.

"Leave it to the boys then." Judy's voice tried to be its airy self, but missed the mark. She prodded gently at the scales around where the spear had entered; Karol turned his head and swallowed.

A narrow dirt path led up from the beach, cutting through tall brown grass. Repede bounded ahead as they climbed single file, barking occasionally as if to admonish them for being too slow. The sun burned into Yuri's scalp, almost directly overhead—he squinted up at it and scowled as they wound along the path.

It took about fifteen minutes to reach the outskirts of Torim Harbor, long piers lined with docked ships, water sloshing steadily against their hulls. Crew members leaned out over rails and blinked at them lazily-a few bustled with ropes and barked orders as they prepared to head out to sea.

"Nice to see that this place hasn't changed," Yuri mused, deadpan, as they made their way down the cobblestone street toward the shops.

"I wonder if that weird ice cream guy is still here," said Karol, making a face.

"What, you don't want an octopus popsicle?"

"No way!"

Yuri chuckled, his eyes cutting over to scan the buildings that they passed. A little humor made tense times like this more bearable, but he couldn't afford to let his guard down. Estelle was still out there, and the extremists' influence continued to spread.

"Hey, you two run ahead and start loading up on gels, I'll catch up with you." He loosened the sack of gald at his waist and tossed it underhand to Karol, who caught it with both hands, blinking at Yuri with a confused expression. Yuri waved and turned toward the stairs that lead up to an adjacent building.

"Is this really the time to be making social calls?"

Yuri ignored Flynn's comment and jogged up the stairs two at a time, Repede trailing behind him. Upon reaching the top, his eyebrows rose at the words scrawled across the walls of the normally pristine building, red paint still fresh and dripping. They varied in levels of profanity and vitriol, but all had the same message—Imperial collaboration would not be tolerated. Yuri snorted as he pulled the door open, noting patches of slightly off-color paint where similar defacings had been covered up. Once inside, he strode purposefully over to the door of Kaufman's office, hand reaching for the doorknob even as a voice raised protest behind him.

"Now look, y'can't go barging in here without an appoint—Lowell?"

Yuri turned to face the Fortune's Market member, a man he'd seen in the headquarters several times before.

"Mary in?" he asked with a smirk, taking a sort of perverse satisfaction with the way that a vein in the man's temple jumped at the name.

"Don't let her hear you call her that," he hissed, eyes darting toward the door—and indirectly answering Yuri's question. "I shoulda never told you…"

"Thanks," said Yuri, hand closing around the knob. "Oh, you might want to grab some extra paint. I think someone's not very happy with you guys."

"…Again?"

Closing the door behind him blocked out the other man's grumblings, and also made Mary Kaufman look up from the paperwork that she had been poring over at her desk. Despite the obvious troubles that the guild currently faced, she appeared poised as ever and unsurprised by Yuri's appearance there.

"Come to finally accept my offer of employment?" she said, one corner of her mouth turned up wryly.

"Not what I'm here for. Sorry."

"That's too bad. You would be…very useful."

Kaufman's eyes danced with amusement—this was her way with him, a business-like attitude laced with no-nonsense flirtation. They both knew that this was their stalemate; Yuri wasn't willing to bow to anyone's authority, even a guild leader he respected as much as Kaufman, and as for the other, well…there was no chance in hell. Kaufman may have aligned herself with the "good guys," but her every action was weighed and measured for its benefit to her interests. And in the end, was that really so different from her cousin Mira?

"I noticed the place has been redecorated outside. Might want to rethink the color scheme though."

"Yes…we've made some rather persistent enemies it seems. But it's nothing Fortune's Market can't handle. Our reputation is unscathed."

Yuri nodded, looking around the tidy office, and wondered if that was true. The wrong words at the right time…sometimes the tiniest spark could be fanned into a riot. He walked to a window, spoke without turning.

"Yeah, maybe. But…I'd watch your back, Mary." He heard Kaufman make a vaguely annoyed sound. "You can't really be sure who you can trust these days. More than usual, I mean."

"…I'll keep that in mind. Now, I need to get back to this paperwork, but if you're going to be in town for a while, you should really let me buy you a drink. Later this evening, we could go to the…Yuri?"

Repede growled long and low, and Yuri spun away from the window.

"Gonna have to take a rain check on that drink," he said. Kaufman's brow creased at the dark look that Yuri was sure would be in his expression—but he had no more time for pleasantries. What he'd seen…

Once outside, Yuri sprinted down the stairs and turned a corner around the side of the building. There. A flash of dark fabric, unnoticeable unless you knew to look for it. He made a warning gesture to Repede and proceeded as swiftly but quietly as he could. The cloaked figure had already disappeared from sight, presumably through the door in the alley that now stood open just a crack, its gray paint old and peeling.

"Looks like an invitation to me."

Repede huffed in response, which Yuri decided to take as agreement rather than exasperation. That dog had been spending too much time around Flynn lately.

A light one-handed push on the door—which was apparently maintained well enough not to creak on its hinges—yielded a partial view of a room full of afternoon shadows and swirling motes of dust. Somewhere further in, two voices carried on a heated exchange.

"It _will_ be enough," a deep, authoritative male voice was saying. "With the princess in our control, they will have no choice but to bow to our demands."

The second voice was much quieter, a higher pitch, their response hissed and indistinct other than a few words that slipped through, not enough to piece it together.

"I will _not_ tolerate your constant doubts in our moment of victory…Near enough!…Yes, and they will continue to believe that until the moment arrives when we may reveal ourselves…This concerns me as well. They should have arrived by now. However, I am confident in Lady Mira's abilities…Yes, well. Cyrus. There is something about that man…Trust him? Hmm. Perhaps. Even when I gave him control of the Zaphias district, there was something about him…No, I'm sure it's nothing. Things have already been set in motion."

Throughout this conversation, Yuri crept deeper into the room, until he could see the man's dark cloak around the corner of a half-wall that divided it. He slid his sword from his scabbard, the movement practiced so that it made no sound.

Well. No sound that _he_ could detect, anyway. No sooner than his sword had been freed did the shadowy figures whirl in his direction.

"Hey," said Yuri, a smirk curling on his lips. Then he dashed forward, Repede shooting out ahead of him with a low, menacing growl.

The first speaker, noting the man and canine rushing toward him, snorted derisively and—to Yuri's astonishment—slid away in a smooth, rapid series of movements, disappearing up a staircase in the far corner of the room.

"Repede, let him go," Yuri called as his companion began to pursue. There was something about the man that set an itch between his shoulder blades; he didn't want Repede to try and face him alone. The other cloaked figure still stood in the center of the room, their face obscured by a layer of fabric but still somehow giving Yuri the impression that he was being stared at. Or through. He repressed a shudder.

"How about you, huh? Let's do this."

They considered him for a moment, head tilting ever so slightly to the side, gloved fingers playing at the hilt of their sword.

"You do not know what you ask," they hissed at last, then turned on their heel and also headed for the stair, if not quite so inhumanly fluid in their movements.

"Dammit," said Yuri, sprinting after them. "Come on, Repede. This isn't over."

* * *

Flynn loosened the drawstring on the second overstuffed bag of gels that the merchant had handed him, mentally approximating how many it contained.

"That should be enough. How much do I owe you?"

The man gaped at them. "F-five hundred thousand gald. For all of it. That's my entire shipment."

"Alright. I would not want to wipe you out completely, however. The citizens of this city may be in need of them." Flynn took out a stack of notes that represented a written promise from Brave Vesperia to deliver the payment. He also placed a few thousand-gald pieces in the man's outstretched palm. For his trouble.

"That's…ah…it's fine, sir. I can have another shipment by tomorrow morning, bright and early."

It was clear that the man was just barely holding himself back from asking the obvious question: what in the world the pair needed five hundred lemon gels for. Flynn handed one of the bags to Karol, along with the vial of healing balm that Judith had requested. That had also been expensive—thank the stars that Brave Vesperia was such a successful guild, with an imperial princess as their personal sponsor.

With the transaction made, Flynn and Karol started to head back down the central street of Torim Harbor. Out of the corner of his eye, Flynn noticed a cluster of people pointing and chattering, their gaze directed toward the Fortune's Market headquarters. What trouble, he wondered, had Yuri managed to find in the less than twenty minutes since they had parted…

His brow furrowed as he followed the pointing fingers. A dark figure darted across the building's roof, Yuri and Repede pursuing only a few paces behind, sword and teeth bared respectively. Without a moment's hesitation, Flynn spun and pushed his bag of gels at Karol, who grasped it to his chest with an audible _oof._

"Take these to Judith, quickly as you can," he said, reaching for his own sword as he kept his gaze trained on the pursuit. They stood poised on the edge of Fortune's Market HQ's roof, facing each other—before Flynn could blink, the one being chased stepped off, cloak fluttering as they fell and landed in a crouch, apparently unharmed. Naturally, Yuri followed almost immediately.

Flynn cursed under his breath. Jaw tight, he pushed through the crowd, scanning for any sign of where they had gone next. There, up ahead—they had nearly reached the edge of town, and it appeared that Repede had caught up briefly, for a scrap of dark fabric dangled from his mouth, streaming behind him as he ran.

"Yuri!" he shouted, earning the briefest of glances and a completely inappropriate exhilarated grin from the other man. There was no way at this point that he would gain on them, but Flynn continued to follow as they left Torim Harbor behind, its cobbled streets giving way to a dirt path and then open fields of short, dry grass and gnarled trees. Some of these trees blocked his view of the chase, so that he nearly had to skid to a stop when silhouetted figures loomed large in his vision.

Yuri and the cloaked stranger squared off in a dusty clearing overlooking the ocean, a sheer cliff mere paces away. Flynn could hear the ocean waves crash against it far below, over and over, a dull roar that drowned out anything that might be said. They circled each other, outlined and obscured by the dying afternoon light, shadows stretched long across the sand. In a flash, Yuri darted forward, and the other was ready to meet him, their swords connecting with a clang that reverberated in Flynn's ears. Repede darted back and forth, nipping at the enemy's heels—they hissed and kicked at him, but he was too quick, coming away with more fabric, this time stained with blood.

Flynn sprinted forward, but things were happening too fast. Yuri slashed at them while they were distracted, a long diagonal cut that started at the fabric covering their face and ending at the shoulder. Features became visible, soft angles and long wisps of hair. The woman tried to spit in his face as she spun away.

"Huh," said Yuri, before he pursued her nearly to the edge of the cliff. She had nowhere to go, Repede pinning her in from the other side. The long cloak she wore was soaked through with blood in several places, but she appeared undaunted, eyes locked with Yuri's defiantly.

"You have already lost," she said, voice unwavering. "Lady Estellise will be given to our leader, and you will _never_ see her again. The new era has begun."

"Sorry, I'm allergic to villain clichés," said Yuri, hand set on his hip as if he wasn't facing off against one of Liberty's Fist's most deadly. "Let's finish this."

He stepped in as she raised her sword, poised to strike—when she feinted to the left, grasping his tunic and pulling hard. They tumbled back, grappling as they fell, disappearing from sight.

Then there was silence, nothing but the waves. Flynn could hear himself shouting, distantly, could feel himself move toward the cliff's edge without remembering the decision to do so. He fell to his knees, scanning the churning water below, thinking _not again, not again, not when I've only just gotten him back. _He wasn't sure where Repede had gone, but a few moments later, his muffled barks brought him slowly back into reality.

Muffled, because his jaws were clamped around the fabric of Yuri's tunic—the man himself was clinging one-handed to a scrubby bush, out of breath but apparently unharmed. Flynn nearly collapsed with relief, very well may have if it weren't for the danger not quite being over.

"Hey, uh…mind giving me a hand here?"

Yuri reached up and pulled himself over the edge, slowly and carefully—Flynn felt vaguely dizzy as he noted that the bush had been torn almost completely away from where its roots clung to the face of the cliff. One final heave; Flynn fell back into the dirt, pulling Yuri the rest of the way, half-sprawled on top of him. They lay there, breathing hard.

There was a tightness in Flynn's chest, too familiar, too large to contain. He wanted to reach up, reach out. He wanted. Yuri watched him with dark eyes, and he could feel his heart beating, _alive alive alive. _

"Hey, so," Yuri said after a moment, and that was all the warning he gave, closing the space between them as he pressed his lips to Flynn's, soft and warm. Flynn gasped, beyond astonished, barely remembered to move his mouth against Yuri's, to slide a hand up to his neck. Yuri's leather-gloved hand clenched into a fist in the sand beside his head.

Flynn didn't know how long they would have stayed that way, but they separated—seconds later? minutes?—upon hearing a distant warble. They glanced at each other, then stood and dusted themselves off. Repede sat at the edge of the clearing, his back to them, and snorted when he turned his head at their approach. Together, the group made its way back down to the beach, the walk all the longer for how Flynn still couldn't quite seem to catch his breath.


End file.
